


Fix You

by TheShantorian



Category: Hellsing
Genre: All characters are human, F/M, Horror, Human AU, Mystery, Other, Suspense, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-09-20 11:12:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9488555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShantorian/pseuds/TheShantorian
Summary: He glanced at the girl again. Her face was contorted into an expression of pain. Her hands were clasped into fists, resting against his chest. She was mostly still, but he could feel her shaking slightly in his arms. He would fix this, he thought, setting his jaw in a hard line.I will fix this.





	1. Prologue

Note: This story is AU, and all characters are human.

Prologue 

The room reeked of body odor and stale sweat: the only fruits of his labour. Papers were strewn across the floor and piled high on the sole table in the office. The frail-looking desk held up a computer, a television, and a pair of wire rimmed glasses with golden lenses. His floppy, red fedora leaned precariously off the edge of a pile of books beside him.

His red coat was draped across the back of his old, grey office chair, his eyes cast downwards on the shadows littering the room. The lights were off, and the only source of brightness came from the slit under the door, leading to the sixth storey of his workplace.

He leaned back into the creaky desk chair, the piece of furniture bending drastically under the pressure of his body.

_Useless, cheap, piece of plastic crap_ , he thought, absently grabbing the small remote from under the stack of paperwork on the table beside him. He powered on the small, out of date television to his right, slightly illuminating the darkened office room.

He kicked off his boots, and propped his feet up on the desk in front of him, leaning further back into the already contorted chair. He sighed, blowing strands of his hair out of his eyes, and turned his attention to the flickering screen of his T.V.

            He began flipping through channels, skimming past infomercials and reality shows, but nothing really struck him as interesting. _It’s been a while since anything worth watching has been on,_ he thought, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. Eventually, he stopped on a channel airing a live newscast.

            “-been found bleeding outside of the two-storey home on 5th Street. The owner of the home, a supposed member of the elusive Iscariot gang, fled the scene after the bodies of the four children were discovered. Now, onto Natalie Parker, live at the scene-”

            The newscaster’s tale was cut short by the door to his office being slammed open. The room was instantly flooded with the yellow lights of the main hallway outside. He groaned audibly and used his arm to shield his eyes from the sudden illumination.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” he asked, lazily pulling his feet off of his desk. He rubbed his eyes as the office, now fully lit, came into focus.

             His boss, with her long, white-blond hair, glasses, and stern gaze, glowered at him from the doorway. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, clearly unimpressed with his behavior. He didn’t care what she thought, he told himself. That thought kept him from going insane from working in a place like this.

            “Well, I was watching a newscast about the murders of some unfortunate little children, until I was rudely interrupted,” he said, shooting his boss a piercing look between the parted fingers of his hand.

            She scowled. “I thought you were more attentive than this,” she said, stepping into the office and shutting the door behind her. “I want you head out to the scene of that homicide tonight. I heard that the police were interfering, again.”

            He dropped his arm. “Which homicide?” he asked.

            She furrowed her brow and took two large strides towards where he sat. “You know very well which homicide I’m referring to.”

            He groaned again, swivelling the chair so that his back was to her. He didn’t need this right now. He was tired, a little bored, and just wanted to head home and sleep, and maybe have a glass of his favorite red wine. He was beginning to like the sound of that idea the more he let it roll around in his desensitized mind. 

            “The police aren’t my problem,” he said, pulling his boots back on, “Why can’t you just send Walter?”

            “The police aren’t your problem, you’re right, but Anderson is,” she said, leaning against his desk.

            He swivelled the chair back around, his eyes narrowed in question. “Are you sure it’s him?” he asked.

            “No, I’m not. But, it’s not my job to be sure. That’s yours, to head out, and fill me in on what’s going on out there,” his boss said, glancing over the state of his office. She looked thoroughly unimpressed.

             He wanted to see Anderson. He needed to. But, something was holding him back.

            “But it’s Friday,” he said. That was the only thing that he could come up with to keep himself from having to go out. He had a very bad feeling about heading out tonight. Something about the job, Anderson, and him, just didn’t fit. He didn’t want to go, but for the first time in ages, laziness wasn’t the reason why.

            She rolled her eyes, put her hands on her hips, and refocused her intent gaze on him. “You’ll get next week off, including the weekend.” 

            He paused momentarily.

“You’ve got a deal,” he said, slowly rising from his chair. He made a strangled, pained noise as he overdramatically stretched his arms above his head, attempting to loosen the constricted muscles contained within. He reached forward and pulled his coat off the back of his chair.

            “That’s what I thought you’d say,” she said, straightening her position.

“Just remember, if you screw up, you’ll be working overtime for the rest of the month,” she said, turning to leave his office, “Oh, and one last thing?”

            He turned to her as he slid on his, long, red coat, and raised an eyebrow in an expression of questioning.

            “Don’t leave unarmed.”

            He laughed, “Come on, Integra,” he said, slipping on his hat and glasses, “As if I’d leave this hellhole alone.”

 


	2. Chapter 1: Close Encounters

Chapter 1: Close Encounters 

            “Seras, you take a group of three men around back. We need photos of the evidence. Jack, when she returns with her group, I want you to take another group of three inside and find any clues you can about the criminal’s whereabouts.”

            Following my father’s orders, I instructed the three closest officers to follow me to the back of the suburban, two-storey dwelling in downtown Toronto. The home itself was average looking, with red bricks, a single door, and a neatly trimmed lawn. Other than the police tape surrounding the area, and the few, slightly larger-than-average groups of spectators, it appeared no different than the other homes on the street. It felt like any other night, with the crisp air of early spring, and the soft chirping of the crickets, hidden in the nearby shrubbery.

            At the back of the house, my team and I were greeted with the stench of blood, still fresh and sharp in the air. The backyard of the home consisted of a set of garden chairs, now stacked at one corner of the area, a small fruit tree planted right at the back of the yard, and the now cordoned off section where the four, small bodies of the victims lay.

            I’d never been very good around scenes like this, which was odd for someone who was a member of the murder investigations branch of the police department. I had trouble raising my gun at anything, and often times, when my team needed me to subdue a criminal on the run, I couldn’t bring myself to pull the trigger. Something about the way the guilty patron acted just didn’t allow me to shoot. I couldn’t do it. It was a bad habit I needed to grow out of soon, or being a member of this particular police squad would be next to impossible.          

I asked one of the three men on my team to begin photographing the area, while the other two skimmed the scene for any leftover evidence or clues. I remained by the gate to the backyard, my gun raised out in front of me, prepared to shoot. Despite that fact, I knew that if the need did arise, I would probably never _actually_ shoot anyone.

            Minutes went by, and eventually, my team finished up with our duties. We grouped together and made our way back to the front of the house.

            When we met up with the rest of our unit, I immediately noticed that something was off. Jack’s group stood anxiously in front of the house’s front door, waiting to head inside. The rest of the squad was spread out in pairs or groups of three, seemingly standing around doing nothing, which was highly unusual for a busy group like us. My father was nowhere to be seen.

            I rushed up the front steps and to Jack’s side. He smiled as I approached him, saying, “Hey there, kitten.”

 I was growing more confused by the second. Anxiously furrowing my brow, I asked, “Where did my dad go?”

            Jack’s eyes scanned the area, looking above and around me, but never at me. After he seemed satisfied with what he saw, he directed his attention to me. “He’s talking to that dude over there,” he said, pointing across the street where my dad, in his chief officer uniform, was speaking to a man clad in a long, red, coat and an equally rouge fedora.

            “Who is that?” I asked, thinking aloud.

            Jack just shook his head. “I don’t know. None of us know. He just showed up a few minutes ago and demanded to speak to whoever was in charge. If he’s one of those feds…” Jack trailed off.

            Recently, we’d been getting into trouble with the government. I know, that’s rather ironic for the police, but for some reason, the federal government continuously sent people to make sure that we accomplished nothing involving recent murders or rapes, specifically any sort of gang related incidents. It was like we were being told not to do our job by the very people who employed us. It didn’t make sense, but since we were powerless to the government, we had no choice but to follow.

            Another minute went by, and my dad continued to speak to the man in red. From across the street, the man appeared to be standing almost completely still, with only the wind slightly skewing his dark hair and drape-like coat, whereas my dad spoke in very animated movements, with his arms waving and his head shaking every few statements. As I watched their conversation progress, I began to approach my father and his visitor.

            Nearing the pair of men, I asked, “What’s going on?”

I stopped at my father’s side and turned to look up at the man in red in front of us.

            He was tall, over six feet, wearing a simple black suit under his red coat. His hair was choppy and black, cut to fall just above his shoulders and below his ears. His eyes were covered by a pair of glasses with golden-red coloured lenses, completely shrouding his eyes. From my angle, he appeared to be menacing and downright creepy. I gulped without thinking, and averted my eyes from the strange man.

            “This,” said my dad, turning to me, “is Alucard. He’s a representative from the Hellsing Organization.”

            I blinked at him. “Hellsing? You mean…” my voice trailed off as I caught sight of the man again. He had a strange look on his face. He looked prideful and almost happy to standing where he was. Something about him seemed off, and I disliked standing so near to him.

            My dad finished my sentence for me. “Yes, the federal government. Apparently, according to their protocols, we don’t have permission to investigate this case any longer, so, we’ve gotta leave. Now.”

            I scowled, but didn’t say anything. On the inside, I wanted to throttle the man in red, Alucard, and to tell him that the government could go stick their stupid protocols up their asses, but as a member of the police force, it was my duty to protect the city by direction of the government. So, naturally, I did as I was told. 

            “Your cooperation is greatly appreciated,” the man said. His voice was gritty, almost like a growl, and if I wasn’t mistaken, I could swear that he’d said that statement with a lot of sarcasm.

            With that, my dad and I turned to leave. From our position across the street, my dad radioed Jack and told him to have the men withdraw. He ordered everyone to head back to the station for a quick meeting to review protocols once more. Sighing, I followed my dad back towards our team.

            Just as we stepped off the curb, a shadow flickered to my right. I only just saw it out of the corner of my eye, a small twitch of movement that was barely noticeable. I stopped walking and turned to see what had caused the disturbance.

            Standing just off the curb, I panned my eyes over the area, looking for something out of place. Seeing nothing that alarmed me, I turned back to my dad, and screamed.

            A man, with short blond hair, glasses, and a stark white suit, had managed to restrain my dad. I watched as the man shifted his position to reveal that he had a knife held to my father’s throat. The look in the newcomer’s eyes said that if we made a move, my dad would die.

            Instantly, the street plunged into chaos.       

            The police squad radioed in for back up, the bystanders of the scene dispersed in rushes of bodies, and the man, Alucard, raised a gun in the direction of my dad and his captor.

            I stood, frozen in place by fear, shock, and confusion. My gun remained trained on Alucard for reasons unknown, as I watched the rest of the scene play out in front of me, as if I was outside my body, watching from above. I felt disconnected from the scene, and I could make myself to nothing more than shake and stare ahead.

            Alucard’s gun, a large, sliver weapon with delicate engravings along the barrel, was pointed at the head of the man holding my father hostage. I could see Alucard’s lips moving, but I couldn’t hear a sound. The usual noises of the night were drowned out by a large, rushing sound. After a moment, I realized that I was hearing my own blood flowing in my ears.

 I didn’t know what I wanted to have happen next; I just I wanted this to end.

            Alucard released the safety on the gun, and as he pulled the trigger, a citizen, panicked and lost, slammed into the larger man, knocking him off balance.

            I watched, horrified, as the sound of a gunshot rang through the air. Terrified screams immediately responded, followed by the dull _thud_ of a body hitting to pavement. The man holding my father had fled by this point.

            Alucard had missed his target, and instead, had shot my father in the chest.

            I felt the gun slip from my fingers, clattering against the road. I sensed a pair of eyes turn their attention to me in response, most likely Alucard’s, but I didn’t even glance at him.

In a daze, I felt myself shuffling forward, towards my dad. I felt wetness on my face and an ache in my chest. I immediately thought it was raining, but I realized that the moisture was tears, and the heaviness weighing me down was pain.

I kept hearing laughter echoing through my skull. It was familiar, but hollow and distorted. I felt myself glancing from left to right, looking for the source. Only after I’d neared my daddy did I realize that I was hearing a memory of his laughter.

I dropped to my knees in front of my father’s corpse, searching his neck for a pulse I knew I wouldn’t find. My own pulse thundered loudly in my ears, so loud that I was certain everyone in the area could hear it. I felt numbness flow through my limbs, replacing the blood in my veins. As I reached out and placed a hand on my father’s rapidly paling cheek, the world suddenly went out of focus with tears. I watched as a few droplets landed on my father’s forehead, mixing with the blotches of blood that stained his otherwise peaceful face.

“Daddy…” I said, a sob forcing its way out of my chest, “Daddy, it’s me. Wake up.”

I couldn’t hold myself together after that. I felt all of the walls I’d learned to keep up, the ones that made investigating a murder a little easier to bear, come crashing down in the form of painful, racking sobs. I buried my face in my father’s bloodied chest, holding him close, wanting him to move and tell me that he’d be fine, that it was just a scratch.

But I knew that it would never happen.

“Kid,” I heard someone say in a deep, throaty voice.

Alucard.

I tore my eyes away from my father and onto the face of the man who’d done this to him. His glasses were no longer obscuring his eyes, revealing their poisonous red colour, like his coat. I could see the regret and anger the man felt in them, the distaste he felt for his actions. He looked pained, yet as if he was denial, like he refused to accept what he’d done.

“I meant to save him, not hurt him,” he said, crouching down my level. Instantly, I began to panic.

The shock, the anger, and the confusion, all came tumbling out of me.

“No,” I said, dropping my father’s corpse against the asphalt, “Get away from me.” I scrambled backwards, trying to get away from the man in red.

I felt bad about leaving my dad there, all alone on the pavement. But, if he, Alucard, killed my father, would he try to kill me, too? A part of me knew he wouldn’t try to harm me anymore than he already had, but a part of me was so afraid, so terrified of this man that I felt the need to flee immediately.

My father would’ve scolded me for acting like that, after spending hours going over basic first aid and minor medical training with me. He would’ve wanted me to calmly think about his injury, whether or not treatment was possible or necessary, and then move on. He would never want me to hold onto something that’s already happened. But this, this was uncalled for. He never told me what to do if he was the one who’d gotten hurt. He never told me how to fix the giant ache in my chest, or how to subdue the scream-like sobs that came with losing someone you loved.

            _Daddy, I need you. Where are you now?_ I thought.

I heard Alucard sigh impatiently. “Kid, hey,” he said, standing up again. Seeing him tower above me, the light of the streetlamps causing his eyes to glow a fiery red, I felt more fear pool in the pit of my stomach. “Would you relax?” he said, taking a step towards me.

I didn’t want anything to do with this man. He’d broken my father beyond repair, taken my only family from me, turned me away from doing my job, and now he wanted me to _relax?_ Yes, he worked for the feds, and he did have some control over my job, but that didn’t mean he could control how I felt. He killed my father for crying out loud.

I could hear my father’s disapproving voice, telling me off for being so rude to a man who had ultimately saved the rest of my team. I could hear him telling me about the sacrifices that would have eventually had to be made, by him, or other members of the force. He’d told me that people would be hurt. He just never said that that person might be him.

“No,” I said, panic rising in my voice, “Don’t touch me!” I got up, my vision blurring again, but this time, tears weren’t the reason why. Stumbling over my own feet, I tried to run in the opposite direction of the man. Alucard grunted and grabbed a hold of my arm, pulling me towards him. “Get away from me!”

“Daddy! Daddy, help me!” I screeched. “Daddy, come back! Daddy!”

He held me firmly by my wrists as I struggled against his strong grip, feebly attempting to free myself while yelling exactly how I felt about this man as loud as I could. I shouted, I screamed, and I cried for my father to save me, futilely trying to make my voice heard over the thundering of my blood and the clamor of the street.

My frantic cries mixed with his murmurs, his attempts to calm me down, but I completely disregarded him.

“Daddy,” I whispered, as my consciousness began to fade, “I love you.”

I felt my head become light, my eyelids become droopy, and as the police squad finally noticed what was happening to me, I watched, my eyes half open with shock, as concern filled Alucard’s eyes, and the world around me faded into a thick, murky blackness, while my father’s voice beckoned me to come to him.

**_Alucard_ **

            The police girl fainted, slumping into his arms. He lurched forward and caught her thin body. She was so frail, so light, he noticed. He couldn’t help thinking that she shouldn’t be working a job like the one she was. But, this one was a daddy’s girl. She’d do whatever her dad said until the very end. Hell, she probably would’ve let herself die for him.

            Alucard scoffed at the thought. He’d never understood that about people. He’d never understood why people would willingly give up their own goddamn life for another human being. It was common sense to save your own skin in times of danger, not jump straight into the line of fire for them. People could be so stupid sometimes, but then again, so could he.

As he cradled the girl’s body in his arms, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: guilt.

            It clawed at him, struggling past his façades of calmness and quiet. It surged something within him, something powerful, something he’d spent years trying to get rid of. Anger and distaste for himself resurfaced, making him want to hand the girl over to her team and head to the nearest bar for a drink. He felt his limbs grow heavy, the weight of his actions crushing him.

            _Crap_ , he thought. Integra would never let him hear the end of this. _Hell_ , he thought, _maybe I’ll finally get fired, and leave this godforsaken job for good_.

            Though he thought that, he knew he didn’t mean it. Integra meant a lot to him. She was the reason that he’d broken his chronic drinking and taken up tasteful wine tasting instead. She changed him, but this, he thought, looking down at the face of the girl in his arms, this had changed him, too. This had changed him into something he didn’t want to be.

            Not only had he ruined another person’s life, he’d also let Anderson get away, again. He’d sworn, after the last time he’d encountered that piece of Iscariot shit, to kill Anderson with a bullet from his gun. He needed Anderson dead. That man had done too much wrong in his life, and needed to be sent straight home to Hell.

            He approached the girl’s team, and told them that he’d take care of her from here. The team didn’t object; they couldn’t. One member, a young boy, probably no older than the girl, neared him, his eyes filled with a deep sadness, and something else, something Alucard knew he often expressed in his own eyes.

            Anger.

            “We’ll take the chief,” the boy said, his voice cracking as he glanced at the girl, defeated and worn-out, in Alucard’s arms.

            “I’m sure that’s what he’d want,” he said, looking away from the police boy’s torturous gaze.

            The way he looked at the girl, the anger in his eyes, made Alucard think that the boy was close with the girl. Alucard realized that he needed to leave, or this police boy might send him to visit the girl’s dad.

            As he turned to leave, Alucard called out to the police boy. “She’ll be fine,” he said, “I promise.”

            The boy didn’t say anything for a moment, but, before he turned away, he said, “She will _never_ forgive you, so just do yourself a favour and stay away from her, and from us, from now on.” With that, boy strode forward to meet up with his team.

They say there’s strength in numbers, something Alucard never thought was true as a solo act. But, seeing the way the other police members consoled the boy, made his thoughts shift. They were many people that worked as a single unit, a greater whole. Alucard couldn’t help but feel slightly guiltier about breaking that unity.

            He scowled, turning towards the main road. The hospital was down the block, and the girl would get treated much faster if he brought her in himself.

            As he walked down the sidewalks, passing confused onlookers and other pedestrians, Alucard repeatedly told himself that it wasn’t his fault. It was an accident. He needed to hear that, he needed to know that that was true, in order for him to move on.

            He glanced at the girl again. Her face was contorted into an expression of pain. Her hands were clasped into fists, resting against his chest. She was mostly still, but he could feel her shaking slightly in his arms.

            He would fix this, he thought, setting his jaw in a hard line. _I will fix this._

 ----

**Author's Note** : Well hello there. This fic is also a re-upload of my stuff on ff.net. I'll be updating this story both there and here, so if this interests you, keep an eye out. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 2: Waking Up

Chapter 2: Waking Up

            It was the voices that brought me back to the world.

            There were two people speaking, a woman and a man. The woman was speaking in hushed tones, her voice calm and collected, yet slightly stern, like she was trying to soothe the other speaker by being firm with them. The man spoke with a growl-like purr, his voice throaty and harsh. His voice made him seem both worried and impatient, like he wanted answers, but wouldn’t wait around to get them. He made it clear that he wouldn’t be staying any longer than he needed to.

            I pressed my eyelids together, hoping to keep the outside world at bay for just a moment longer. I longed to go back into the thick, sleepy darkness that was unconsciousness. I missed the soothing quiet, the calm nothingness. I missed the place where nothing existed, where there was no pain, no murder investigations, and where I could still believe that my father was alive. I just didn’t want to deal with reality anymore, now that I had nobody left to endure it with.

            The image of my father, bleeding, bent, and broken, came back to me in flashes of discoloured images behind my eyelids, like snapshots from an old fashioned film. The images were grainy and out of focus, like my mind wouldn’t let me remember them clearly, because my subconscious knew how much it hurt me to be reminded of his fate.

            A part of me wanted to kill myself, to escape this mental torment, and to go visit my father in his new home. A part of me wanted to forgive the man, Alucard, for what he’d done. As much as I wanted to deny it, and blame him outright for killing my only family, the more rational and sensible part of me was telling me to let my feelings of anger go. I knew my father would’ve wanted me to do the latter. However, despite all of that, I couldn’t help but feel the unmistakable pang of anger than scratched and clawed at the back of my mind, practically begging me to pour all of the blame on the Hellsing representative.

            The voices of the two speakers rose in pitch, followed by the joltingly loud slam of a door. I realized that I could fight the inevitable no longer. It was time for me to wake up, and stop running from the past, just like my father would want me to.

            Warily, I forced my heavy eyelids apart.

            I was greeted by blinding, white, fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling above me. I blinked, attempting to allow my eyes to adjust. As my I became familiar with the glowing whiteness, I groggily rolled my head to the left.

            Doing so was a poor choice. My head was thick and felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Every movement felt like it was happening in slow motion, all delayed by invisible cords and wires, binding me into a single, unmoving pose that hurt to fight against.

Looking around the room, I realized that I was in a hospital, but that was to be expected since I’d passed out. I couldn’t help but think of myself as weak for doing so. Against my will, I felt a few stray tears make their way down my cheeks, causing anger and embarrassment to flare within me. I was stronger than this, and crying about something I had no control over after it had happened caused me to resent myself significantly. I felt ashamed, and all around useless. My father had been injured and the only thing I was able to do was panic and faint. Now, when my father would want me to be my strongest and move on with my life, I’d only been able to get hurt and cry about it. 

            Nice going, Seras.

            Internally scolding myself, I took bearings of my hospital room.

            Everything was a brilliant white, from the walls to the curtains, to the bed sheets tucked neatly around my small body.

            There were various devices attached to me by electrodes and needles, like an IV, and what appeared to be a heart rate monitor. The methodic beeping of the devices was almost numbing enough to pull me back into a much desired slumber, but I knew that though I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to slip back into my mind’s void.

The faint smell of linen, body odor, and flowers lingered in the air, with the light, yet sharp, scents of cleaning products and rubbing alcohol lacing the room.

            The only thing that seemed remotely out place was the blood-red patch of fabric that was seated in a chair to my right.

            It was Alucard, that man from the government.

            He sat, hunched over, his head in his hands, like a defeated boy. His hat and golden glasses rested on the small table beside my hospital bed, right next to a small vase of flowers. He was still clad in a black suit and his startlingly red coat. His hair was disheveled and shaggy, covering his face and fingers. Though he appeared to be broken and very saddened looking, there was something about the way his body was held, the way his fingers were clenched, that made me feel as though he was…

            Annoyed?

            I furrowed my brow in confusion.

            How could he possibly be _annoyed_? He killed my father! Though I do blame him extensively, I do realize that he hadn’t done it intentionally, but that didn’t give him any reason to be _annoyed_. Even if it wasn’t intentional, he’d killed a man that didn’t need to be killed. That must have taken a toll on him in some way, right? He was human, so he must have felt something for doing what he’d done. I couldn’t be the only one internally tormented by what had happened.

            I realized that I couldn’t just lie down and stare at the man beside me indefinitely. Seeing as my neck was beginning to cramp from the uncomfortable position, I made an attempt to sit up.

            Aligning my head with my body once again, I slowly used my arms to push myself up. The movement was erratic, but slow, like I was moving through molasses. The sudden change in elevation sent a wave of dizziness and mild throbbing through my head. Without meaning to, I groaned and placed a shaky hand on my head.

            My sudden outburst seemed to have shocked Alucard out of his daze. The man wrenched his head out of his hands, and stared at me. His face appeared placid and calm, like he’d expected me to do what I just did. His eyes, however, were wild. They were filled with anger, impatience, and what appeared to be a hunger for something unknown. Maybe he just really wanted to get out of this hospital. Maybe it was something else, but as for what actually created that strange look in his eye, I didn’t know.

            After holding eye contact with him for far too long for it to be considered accidental, I asked, “Why are you here?”

            _I’m such an idiot,_ I thought, _Jesus, I am so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , I scolded myself.

I knew full well why he was here, yet I had to make it seem like I didn’t want him to be here with my stupid questions (not that I _did_ want him to be here). There were so many other things I could’ve asked, like the identity of the woman who’d been in the room earlier, or how long I’d been out for. Ashamed, I looked away from him. I heard him make a _tch_ sound in response.

            “It’s not like I had a choice,” he said, pulling the chair he was sitting on closer to my bedside. I could feel his eyes, red and unwavering, boring into the back of my head, studying me, analyzing me. “I brought you in, so I was expected to stay.”

            I turned my head back to him. He was so much closer than he was before. I could clearly see the lines of tiredness marking his otherwise handsome face (not that I was noticing anything like that about him). His eyes no longer appeared wild, but they were far from calm.

            “What happened to my father?” I asked, breaking eye contact with him. My voice cracked inadvertently when I asked that. It must have been the thought of my father being given improper treatment for his death. The thought of my father’s untreated body, lying crusted over in stale blood and dirt, in the morgue at the station, just broke my heart. I couldn’t allow myself to believe that my team would be so heartless to their beloved chief. I told myself that my team had not mistreated my dad, and that he was receiving a burial fit for a man like him. In my heart, I knew I was right. My team was more than dependable. I had no reason to worry.

 Instead of turning away from Alucard altogether, I turned my attention to his hands. His rough-looking, weathered hands were clasped together on the edge of my bed, the fingers tightly wound with each other. His face may have said he was doing all right, but his hands said that he was incredibly high strung.

            “He was taken by your team,” was all he said, his tone considerably lighter than it was before. I felt no less confused about the state of my father, but the unexpected shift in his voice startled me, and I raised my eyes back to his.

            The emotion was gone. Alucard’s eyes that were filled with so many different feelings only moments before appeared completely drained of humanity. His eyes were hollow, deadened, like he’d internally collapsed from the weight of something pushing him down. In the few moments that had passed between us, this man had broken. I wondered if it was the guilt of killing my father, but if that had been the case, I had a feeling that this man would have said something about it.

            No, it was something else that had gotten to him. But what was it?

            “What-” I started, wanting to ask and find out the reason for myself, but Alucard didn’t allow me to speak. Instead, as if he knew where I was trying to direct this conversation, he changed the subject.

            “How old are you?” he asked, moving his hands from off my bed to in his lap. He leaned back in his chair, a mixture of different emotions washing over his face.

            Caught off guard by his seemingly random question, I simply answered. “I’m nineteen,” I said. 

            Alucard, who now seemed outright annoyed and blatantly unhappy with being in the same room as me, put his hands behind his head, lounging into his chair. He seemed so uncaring that it was beginning to irritate me. I could understand his feelings from earlier, the melange of different sentiments in response to his mistake, but the… sudden disregard for everything was confusing and downright frustrating to me. Suddenly, all desire that I previously had to make amends and move on with this man dissipated. I wanted nothing to do with him as much as he wanted nothing to do with me.

            As I glanced at the crimson figure seated beside me, a thought surfaced in my mind, one I just had to voice.

            “Why?” I said, staring at Alucard.

            “Excuse me?” he replied, lifting his head slightly to look at me.

            “Why did you have to show up last night?”

            “I think you mean three nights ago, kid.”

            “I was out that long?”

            “Yep.”

            “You didn’t answer my question.”

            He groaned and righted his position. “It’s my job. I just did what I was told to.”

            “Were you told to shoot anyone you wanted to on sight?”

            Alucard’s expression darkened. I could tell I’d struck a mark with that statement. I felt a small amount of fear trickle into my veins, but something inside of me told me that he wouldn’t even consider hurting me, for any reason. That feeling kept me strong enough to stare the larger man down.

            “Listen, police girl,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms, “it was a _fucking_ _accident_. Okay? Did you get that? I thought you police rats would’ve been-”

            He’d gone too far.

            “Who are you calling a _rat?”_ I exclaimed, my voice rising in volume. “If it weren’t for you being there, my dad might still be alive!”

            “I wouldn’t have been there if you pieces of police _shit_ could just mind your own _fucking_ business!”

            “We were only doing our jobs!” I said. For some reason, my voice sounded like I was pleading with him.

            “And I,” he said, “was only doing mine.” His voice had dropped from an enraged shout to a low growl. He paused for a few moments.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” said Alucard. His voice was thick with repressed anger, and what sounded like guilt. “My boss said I needed to give you this.”

            With that, Alucard tossed a small paper square onto my bed, stood up, and left the room with the sound of the door being shut echoing in his wake.      

            I sat, slightly dumbfounded and slightly shocked for a few moments after he left. I felt partially hollow inside, like this dispute had caused something inside of me to stir, something I didn’t like. It left me feeling nauseated and unnerved. I felt horrible, foul, but I couldn’t discern why. The unmistakeable sense of guilt made itself present, and I let it take over my body, filling my every pore, as I took stock of the memento Alucard had left me with.

            It was a business card. On it was Alucard’s name, phone number, and an address, for his office building, I assumed.

            I clenched my fist around the card, feeling its sharp edges bite into my skin.        

            This wasn’t going to be the last time I saw that man, I just knew it. But the next time I saw him, I would fix this… this mess between us, once and for all.

\---

**_Alucard_ **

            _Damn it all_ , he thought as he stormed out of the room. He didn’t need this right now. What he did need was a glass of red wine, aged seven years; his favorite.

            After sitting in that goddamn room for two days, she wakes up and does what?

            She complains. He couldn’t believe the audacity of that stupid, little _child._

            Yeah, he’d fucked up pretty badly, but he’d saved her life, and the lives of the other members of her police force. Hadn’t she ever heard of taking one for the team?

            Sure, he hadn’t gotten off easy making such a stupid mistake as missing his target (Integra had told him off enough about that earlier in the kid’s room), but she could’ve at least taken into account the fact that he’d carried her all the way from the crime scene to the hospital.

            And that _look_ she’d given him, after she asked about her father’s whereabouts. The way she’d said it, the look on her face… That had been too much for him.

            Who did she think she was? She’s a _kid_ , a little child playing a game made for grown-ups. She should’ve known the moment that she’d joined her force that people were going to get hurt. She should’ve known that things don’t always turn out as expected. But, she didn’t know, and it was her problem to face, not his.

            _She said she was nineteen, right? Well she’s more than old enough to take care of herself_ , he told himself.

 _She’s practically an adult_ , he thought, _if only she’d start acting like it._


	4. Chapter 3: Revelations

Chapter 3: Revelations

            The next day, I was discharged from the hospital. My best friend Jack picked me up in one of the squad cars and drove me back to my apartment. Upon arrival, I felt a sense of unease take over me. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt extremely uncomfortable with the thought of me living in that cozy little abode all by myself. I guess I just wasn’t ready to be on my own.

            I got out of the squad car, and Jack followed behind me. I approached the building, a small three storey dwelling with about four apartments on each floor. I lived on the first floor, where my dad and I occupied a petite, two bedroom living space painted with olive and chestnut hues, decorated with humble furniture and photos of days gone by.

            I pulled out my keys from my jacket pocket, fitted them into the lock, and turned. The door made its audible _click_ , and Jack and I entered, shutting the door behind us.

            The apartment still smelled of occupation, specifically of my dad. The scent of the cologne he always used lingered in the air, like the remnants of a fading memory. I felt something sink in my chest as the familiar scent caused images of my dad from the night he died to resurface in my mind.

            From my vantage point at the doorway, I could clearly see the quaint kitchenette, with its yellow walls and floral wallpaper trim, the small, wooden table, decorated with a bowl of fruit, and the bookshelf and table set just below the large window to the right, all holding up vases, picture frames, and other mementos from my past.

            To the left was a large wall with three doorways branching off of it. One door, in the centre of the wall, led to one of the apartment’s bathrooms. The one on the left led to my bedroom, containing a second bathroom, and the door on the right led to my father’s room.

            Seeing that my apartment looked exactly how it was left on the day my dad and I were last here, I slipped off my muddy boots, put them on the shoe rack by the door, and entered the area with Jack following suit.

            Since we’d left the hospital, Jack had been oddly quiet. Something had put him off, but I had zero idea as to what it was. With him being one of my long-time friends, I respected his decision to be quiet and didn’t try to interfere. If there was something he wanted me to know, Jack would say it without hesitation.

            Standing in the kitchen area, I headed straight for the fridge by direction of my stomach. It had been creating embarrassingly loud noises since I’d left the hospital, and it was beginning to feel painful. I was thankful for Jack’s taste in loud music to mask the sound of my stomach’s cries.

            Reaching into the fridge, I pulled out a bottle of orange juice. I cracked open the lid and took a big swig of the sweet liquid before turning to Jack. He was standing in front of the single window, leaning against the small shelf. In his hand was a picture frame. I couldn’t tell which of my photos he was looking at, but whichever one it was, it seemed to have an unpleasant effect on him. The way his jaw was set, with his head dipped to look at the photo, shrouding his eyes in shadow, only made me feel like he wasn’t happy with what he was looking at. In order to ease his obvious discomfort, I decided to break the silence between us.

            “Jack?” I called, righting my position by the fridge.

            He looked up the instant I called out to him. His eyes were wide, but I could tell he’d been sleep deprived from the fresh lines and shadows under his eyes. I hoped that my being in the hospital didn’t have too much to do with him losing sleep.

            “Do you want something to drink?” I asked, meekly holding up my bottle of orange juice.

            Jack set down the picture frame and looked at me, this time, with a smile on his face. It was faint, but it was a smile.

            “I’m fine, kitten,” he said, using the familiar nickname he had for me.

            “Are you sure?” I asked, setting down my bottle of juice on the table and approaching him. I made my way to where he was standing and planted myself in front of him. Like him, I leaned my hip on the small shelf beside us. I looked up into the eyes of the man in front of me, searching for answers. “You haven’t had anything since this morning. That was seven hours ago.”

            I could see definite weariness, one that came with experiencing a lot in a short period of time. I saw traces of sadness, and hints of guilt, but other than that, Jack’s eyes were very vacant, as if he was looking at me, but seeing something else.

            He smiled, and grabbed my hand in a sign of reassurance. At the contact, I felt my blood rush to my cheeks, and I dipped my head down in embarrassment. I wasn’t sure why I felt that way, but I guess nervousness was just part of who I was.

I heard Jack laugh, softly, and as he did so, he tugged me by our intertwined fingers into him. He pulled me close, into an embrace, with his arms, toned and comforting, encircling my small frame, and my arms naturally wrapping around his torso. As I rested my head against his chest, I felt his chin brush the top of my head. Up until this point, I didn’t fully realize how much taller Jack was in comparison to me.

            “Really,” I heard Jack whisper, his voice delicate and faint, “I’m just fine. I think the real question is, are _you_ all right?”

            I turned my head and buried it in the shirt of my best friend, enveloping me with his warmth and his soothing fragrance. He smelled of pine and aged leather, a mixture of the time he’d spent in the field on assignments, and the heavy leather jacket he always wore.

            “I’m fine too,” I told him, “I’m just really glad you’re here. I thought I had nobody left… I don’t know how I could ever forget about you.”

            Jack gave me a squeeze after that, one that meant that he felt the same. It was a reassuring, kind gesture that told me that he would always be there for me. As he gingerly began to run his hand down the back of my head, his fingers tangling in between locks of my blond hair, he whispered, “I will _always_ be here for you.”

            With that, Jack released his hold on me and cupped my face with his hands. He directed my face upwards, so that our eyes met. His eyes, previously clouded with vague emptiness and despair, were now warm and inviting. He pulled my visage close to his, and planted a gentle kiss on my forehead.

            He held me like that for a moment after, but even when the moment ended, he was reluctant to release me. He let his hands slide down from my face, down the length of my arms, and to my hands, only to take mine in his once more.

            “Are you going to be all right on your own tonight?” he asked. His brow furrowed slightly in concern. “I can stay the night if you want.”

            I briefly glanced down at our joined hands. “I’ll be fine,” I said, looking into his eyes. I smiled, hopefully genuinely enough to make him believe that I was telling the truth.

            In reality, I wanted him to stay with me until the end of time. I couldn’t imagine living in this place without another person occupying it. But, Jack had his own life, and though we were extremely close, I knew I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if he had to hold himself back for my sake.

            As if he knew what I was thinking, he lowered his eyelids and gave me a look that said “ _I know you’re just saying that_.”

            “Really,” I said, “I’m just fine.”

            Rolling his eyes in defeat, Jack said, “Alright, you win. But you have my number, so please, Seras, call me if you need anything, okay?”

            I nodded in agreement.

            After a few more minutes of playfully convincing Jack that I could definitely manage on my own, I ushered him out of the apartment, and I still had a smile on my face for minutes after he’d left. He was a great friend and I was more than thankful for the positive effect he had on me.

            I sat alone in the apartment, staring at the tiled floor of the kitchen, for about fifteen minutes after Jack left. I was lost, tired, and lonely. I should’ve asked him to stay, but I didn’t. I did regret my decision, but there was nothing I could do about it now. I’d made my choice, and I stood by it, just as my father taught me to.

            Sitting alone, I began to really miss my father’s company. The quiet words of encouragement to keep me going after a rough day, the subtle jokes he made to keep me happy, his hugs, his smile, his presence, I missed it all. I missed him, and now, all by my lonesome, I felt that it was finally the most appropriate time to let myself express the pain I’d been holding back inside of me.

            I don’t know when I started sobbing, and I don’t know when I stopped. It seemed like it never ended, and didn’t begin at all in the first place. I called for my dad, I cried out for him. It was dream-like, distant, and the kind of crying that made me lightheaded, made breathing so damn hard and caused my head pound from the force of my tears. It was a heavy feeling, one that hurt to let out, but I did feel better once the pain subsided, and the tears dried up.

            Sometime between I started crying and when it ended, I just sat, unmoving and still, in the kitchen, as the room slowly grew darker by the setting sun.

            After too much time had passed, I could sit idle no longer. I stood up, glancing around the area, looking for what, I don’t know. I thrust my hands into my jacket pockets, the fingers of my left hand curling around a small piece of paper.

            The business card.

            I pulled it out of my pocket, and skimmed over the neatly printed text on it. _His_ name, _his_ phone number, _his_ address, and a website I hadn’t noticed before were staring me in the eye, taunting me to do something about it. I blinked, weighing my options mentally. I decided that I needed to know more about Alucard, about his organization, about the man who’d held my father at knife point before his death, and about the reason that my father and I were at that house downtown initially.

            I pocketed the card once again, and made my way to my bedroom. It looked so homely, reminding me painfully of the time when my father walked the same halls I did now. Fighting my conflicted emotions, I entered my room.

            My bed was in the far left corner, the head board against the wall. On that wall were a calendar, and a window. In front of the window lay a desk, covered in unruly piles of paper and disorganized files, with photos and records leaking from their openings. My laptop rested on a stack of files, threatening to topple over at any second. I felt nostalgia sweep over me in a wave, causing my knees to shake and my throat to constrict. I bit my lip defiantly as I lowered myself into my desk chair, dropped multiple stacks of paper onto the floor, and booted up my laptop.

            Within minutes, I had a browser opened up, and was entering in the URL inscribed on the business card.

            The website was only an information page on the Hellsing Organization. From working as a police officer, I knew that the Hellsing Organization was a branch of the federal government specializing in gang violence and murder. However, the only cases that involved the serious interference of the Hellsing Organization involved either serious homicidal threats, like serial killers, or the Iscariot gang.

            I stared at the webpage for about half an hour, looking for anything that could tell me why the Hellsing Organization had to show up that night. As I glanced between the homepage and the button that read _About Us_ , a thought occurred to me.

            The Iscariot gang.

            When I was called into work that night, there were rumors that the deaths of the children were caused by the Iscariot. The Iscariot is solely the business of the Hellsing Organization, which would have most likely caused them to send someone to the crime scene; the crime scene that, if the Iscariot had been involved, my team shouldn’t have been at in the first place.

            I groaned, leaning back into the chair. I rubbed my forehead with my hand as inner self-loathing began to emerge.

            Alucard was right. My team wasn’t supposed to be there that night, especially if there was suspicion that the Iscariot were involved. But, if that was the case, why did my dad ask us to head out? He’s the chief. He of all people should know that by order of the government, specifically the Hellsing Organization, that we’re not supposed to get involved with anything Iscariot related.

            It didn’t make sense. Why would my dad directly disregard protocol? He could have gotten us all fired. I leaned forward in the chair, resting my elbows on my desk and my chin in my palms.

            Alucard was right all along. I felt bad for yelling at him, for provoking him. Everything that I’d said or done to him made me feel regret. I wanted to apologize to him, but with the way he’d left the hospital room, contacting him for any reason seemed like a bad idea. I stood up, shutting off my laptop, and dropped Alucard’s business card on top of my laptop.

            I pulled the thick, cream coloured curtains across my window closed, and dropped down onto my bed. My thoughts became fuzzy and weighed down by drowsiness. It had been a long day, and with so much I’d discovered, I needed to sleep to let it all sink in.

            I rolled onto my side, clutching a pillow to my chest. The way I lay made me think back to when Jack hugged me. I shut my eyes, letting the memory of his arms around me, the faint brush of his lips against my forehead, soothe me into slumber.

            I lay still, letting the comforting thoughts of the one person I had left to call mine in this world carry me off to sleep.

 


	5. Chapter 4: A Pain Like No Other

Chapter Four: A Pain Like No Other

            A sharp trilling noise woke me up. It tore me from the safe, fuzzy dreamland in my head in an instant. Groggily, I blinked my eyes, slowly lifting myself off my bed. As I got my bearings in my darkened bedroom, I realized that the ringing I heard was the sound of the telephone in the kitchen.

            I sluggishly walked into the kitchen, absently rubbing my eyes to rid them of the lingering tiredness. I grabbed the old, cordless telephone out of its cradle and pressed the ‘talk’ button.

            “Hello?” I said, stifling a yawn.

            “Seras?” said the voice. My eyes widened as I recognized the voice on the other end of the line. It was Jim Marshall, the head officer of our branch. He ran all of the other departments of our police station, and made sure we were all doing our jobs. He was the only one of us who communicated directly with the Hellsing Organization.

            “Mr. Marshall?” I said, “Is everything all right?”

            There was a lengthy pause. I took that as a bad sign.

“Sir?” I said, hoping for a response.

            “Seras, this isn’t something I can tell you over the phone,” he said. His voice was hoarse, rough, and dry, like he’d been speaking for a long time prior to this call. He sounded strained, damaged, and utterly devastated. Something must have happened, something extremely wrong. “I’d like you to head down to the station as soon as you can, kiddo. I’ll explain everything then.”

            I gulped as we hung up the phone at the same time. I slumped against the wall for a moment, panting, for reasons unknown. I was sweating, and my bangs stuck to my forehead. I prayed that whatever had happened was nowhere near as bad Mr. Marshall had made it seem. Maybe it was another homicide, one like the one I was at only four days ago. 

            Shaking, I pulled myself off the wall and headed back to my room to get cleaned up, dreading the news that would await me at the station.

\---

            It took me half an hour to reach the station. I sat in the car for a minute, my breathing laboured. I didn’t know what would be waiting for me at the station; all I knew was that it wasn’t good. I swallowed my fear down in a pill of hardened saliva, and made my way towards the squat, stone building that was the station.

            When I entered the foyer, I saw people, other officers from other departments, milling about in clusters, murmuring to each other. I blinked, and I was transported back to the scene of my father’s death, where my own team stood dispersed and lost, like the patrons of the station did now. I blinked again and I was brought back to the cream coloured room with grey furniture, and fake potted plants. The stench of adrenaline and loss lingered throughout the room.

            I strode forward, hopefully in a purposeful manner, towards the head officer’s office on the opposite side of the room. I knocked on the door, and shifted my weight from one foot to another, waiting for a response. Instead of hearing a voice emit from behind the door, I heard it come from right behind me.

            “Seras.”

            I spun around and was greeted by the barely composed face of the head officer. Officer Marshall’s face was glistening with a thin layer of sweat, his eyes constantly shifting from left to right. Something had shaken him up to the point of what looked like utter paranoia. This didn’t comfort me in the slightest.

            “Head officer,” I said, “What’s going on?”

He put his hands on his hips, and bowed his head, revealing a head of thinning hair plastered to his scalp, and dark stains under his arms.

He paused. “It was the Iscariot. That is all we know,” he said.

I stared at him, confused. Like the tide, I felt a wave of fear start to rise in my veins.

“Just follow me,” he said, turning away from me, and down the hallway to my left, towards my branch of the station.

Towards the morgue.

The steel door to the morgue creaked open as the head officer reached inside to flick on the light. The dusty, usually unused room was brought to light, and the head officer led me into the room.

The formerly empty space, with walls lined with metal drawers large enough for a human body, was now almost entirely occupied. I felt my breath hitch in my throat as my eyes took in the sight before me.

There were bodies. Everywhere. Tons of the drawers in the room had been pulled out. Humanoid shapes laid on them, each draped in a clean, white sheet. There were so many bodies.

This wasn’t an ordinary finding of an old, mass grave. Those bodies were far too undecomposed to have been buried before. The bodies belonged to a large amount of people who died very recently to the present date. This wasn’t a coincidental finding of some old mass grave. This was a massacre.

I slowly turned around, glancing over the room, blinking back tears. I knew one of these unmarked sheets hid the former chief of my division, my father. The identities of the remaining bodies remained unknown to me, and I wasn’t exactly eager to find out who they belonged to.

I turned to face the head officer, who was leaning over one of the bodies with a remorseful, deadened look. “What happened here?” I asked, my voice betraying my attempt at holding myself together. So many people, at least fifteen, had died in a terribly short period of time. Thinking of the way I felt when my father was taken from me, and thinking of the way that these peoples’ families must be feeling, left me shaking with sadness and remembrance. I stole a quick glance at the head officer as the memory of my father’s laugh once again reverberated in my head.

“It was the Iscariot,” said Marshall, “That’s really all we know so far.”

I coughed quickly to cover up a would-be sob, and forced myself to think about other things in order to stay composed.

“Seras,” the head officer said, taking hold of the corner of the crisp sheet obscuring the body in front of him, “I’m so sorry, but we just weren’t quick enough. He was already dead when we found him. It happened last night, in his home. One bullet and he was out.”

With that, the head officer pulled back the pallid sheet, and revealed the body underneath.

It was Jack.

            I didn’t pay attention to the head officer any more after that.

I felt like something, a spiny beast, had taken hold of my throat, its pointed talons digging into my trachea, constricting my every breath. I couldn’t inhale, I couldn’t exhale; I could only produce weak, choking noises. My face grew both hot and cold and I could feel the utter mournfulness spilling from my eyes and over my cheeks.

            I took a sharp breath, and forced myself to take a step forward. I felt desensitized and exposed, and I was vibrating with minute convulsions. I kept hearing Jack’s voice, his words, resonating in my mind, along with a periodic, pulsating sound. Guilt for not letting Jack stay the night with me clawed another sob from my body, a wave of fresh tears following in their wake.

            “I’m so sorry,” I cried, my voice garbled by the mixture of tears and excess saliva pooling at my lips, “I’m so sorry, Jack.”

He looked so pale, so _wrong_ , lying there, unmoving, dead.

            “Jack,” I wheezed as I stood over his corpse.

            I felt my hands move and rest on top of his chest, my fingers curling into fists around the white sheet. “Come back,” I breathed, “Come back!”

            I screamed and cried and did everything my father had told me not to do in public. I was truly all alone now. No mother, no father, no Jack, and by the looks of the other bodies in the room, no police squad either. There was nobody left for me in this world. There was nobody worth living for anymore.

            The room around me grew fuzzy, and a buzzing noise began to sound in my head. My throat was raw, my face soaked, and my head was light and airy. I felt my grip on the sheet covering Jack’s lower half slacken, and the ferocity of my cries died down. I was still crying, but I was stoically calm enough to speak.

            I cleared my throat of the phlegm my painful weeping had caused. “Thank you,” I said, feeling my knees quake, “Thank you for everything, Jack.”

            The sorrow came back in a rough jolt of shivers, and the howls I thought had left me returned once more. Between my wails, I managed to moan out, “I love you, Jack.”

            My legs were shaking far too violently to support my body any further. My hands fell from on top of Jack’s chest to my sides, and my knees finally gave way.

            I was only half aware that my body didn’t slam into the floor.

            I felt something strong, something so, so warm catch me from under my arms before I could make contact with the tiles beneath me. A rough, calloused hand took mine, and pulled me up to a standing position. The hand did not let go of mine. I felt another hand place itself on my hip as it tugged me away from Jack, away from the pain. I was too stunned to cry anymore, and too shell-shocked to utter a sound.

            I looked down at the hand holding mine. Worn and thoroughly used, the hand had a gentle, but firm grip on me, the way my father would’ve held my hand.

            My eyes trailed upwards, and I noticed the startling red colour of the sleeve that encased the arm attached to the hand.

            Alucard.

            I slowly turned around and faced the hulking figure of the Hellsing representative. He wasn’t wearing his hat, but his eyes were just as shadowed as they were when he had them on. His hair hung in thick, black locks, falling over his seemingly placid exterior. The slightly pinched expression he wore implied inner unrest, and I felt a part of me ache a little for the torment that this man was facing.

            I was suddenly very aware of the fact that his hand was still grasping mine, and his other one was still resting on my hip. He was holding me like two ballroom dancers would hold each other.

My eyes travelled upwards from a button on his shirt to poisonous, red eyes, and then slowly back down. I could see his lips moving, forming words, but the sound wasn’t making it to my ears. The deafening pound of my heart, and a shrill ringing noise was consuming everything there was for me to hear. Panic was beginning to rise within me again, until I finally heard him speak.

            “Kid.”

            One word, his “nickname” for me, and I snapped my gaze back to his eyes.

            “You don’t need this,” he said, and with that simple statement, he towed me by the hand towards him. “You don’t need this anymore.”

            My head leaned against his chest, my eyes widened with shock for a different reason. He released my hand, and wrapped both of his arms around me. I was overwhelmed by the scent of rosewood and cheap cologne. His arms were light, but sturdy. His head rested just above my own, just like Jack’s did whenever he hugged me.

This man had killed my father, but had protected so many more people. He’d saved me. He’d saved Jack. My dad would never have been angry with him, so why should I even consider doing so?

            Alucard was acting as a pillar, a static figure, one I desperately needed to hold me up when my own body couldn’t do so. My father would have scolded me for being so outright rude to this man.

            I felt my arms rise, slowly, cautiously, moving to embrace Alucard. I balled my hands into fists around the velvety material of his coat, burying my tearstained face in his chest. One of Alucard’s arms shifted upwards, the fingers of his hand tangling in my hair. It felt like my father’s embrace. It felt like the last time I saw Jack alive.

            I didn’t want to be alone. I couldn’t survive all alone.

            As if reading my mind, Alucard said, “You don’t need to do this alone anymore.”

            I turned my head to the side, taking in a deep breath of air. “What do you mean?” I asked.

            “Come with me,” he said. “There’s nothing here for you anymore. This was the Iscariot’s fault, on both counts, and Hellsing knows more about the Iscariot than any other organization. I can help you get the answers you want, and let you get the revenge you want.”

            Revenge.

            The thought of such a thing never crossed my mind. But, Alucard was right. I wanted the perpetrator to understand what it felt like to have nothing left, nobody left that cared about them. As the thought passed through my head, I realized that that wasn’t true. The man holding me in his arms clearly cared about, or wanted to care about, me. I still had something left, but the person who took Jack, who really took my father, did not deserve anything. The killer deserved to feel what I felt, and my father, Jack, and I at least deserved some answers.

            “How?” I said.

“Come with me. I can get you into Hellsing. We can solve this, end this, together,” he said, his voice muffled by my hair.

My father would want me to go with Alucard, find out the truth, and save more lives. Jack would tell me off for not taking part in a good adventure.

            In unison, we slowly pulled away from each other. He held me by the waist as my arms rested against his chest, my hands coiled into loose fists. Unable to find the words, I simply nodded in consent.

            A faint look of relief crossed Alucard’s face. He released me completely, and then grabbed my hand again. Without another word, he tugged me out of the morgue, only stopping to conceal Jack’s face once more.

            Alucard pulled me, dazed and sniffling, out of the station and to his car. I ended up sitting in the passenger seat as he drove me to my apartment. Only when we arrived did I realize that my own car was parked back at the station. Alucard said that he’d have someone bring it to his place later. I only nodded, since I no longer knew what to say, not quite comprehending his words.

            I numbly packed my belongings into a suitcase with fingers and hands frozen over by loss. My nerve endings were covered in a thick layer of ice, freezing me, and not allowing me to feel anything. Every sensation was dulled and slow, as if I wasn’t fully in control of my own body.

With everything I needed packed away, including every picture I had of my father and me, I grabbed Alucard’s business card off of my desk and pocketed it.  I wasn’t sure why, but I felt as though I had to take it with me.

            Alucard took my bag and tossed it into the trunk of his car. I sat down once again and Alucard began driving.

            We drove in silence for a majority of the ride. I stared out of the window, alternating between watching the speeding scenery, my retched face, and Alucard’s focused stare reflected in the window.

            Abruptly, Alucard spoke.

            “Do you want to work for Hellsing?” he asked.

            I turned to look at him. His eyes were still glued on the road in front of him, but he was clearly waiting for an answer.     

            “Anything to find out what happened,” I said.

            Alucard glanced at me. It was a brief moment, but it signaled his concern for me. “We’ll find everything you want to know. I promise,” he said.

            I nodded in understanding and thanks, my head throbbing with a mild headache and the after effects of severe sobbing.

            I turned back to the window, attempting to lose myself in thought. After seeing images of my father and Jack flicker in and out of my vision, I shut my eyes, and was lulled to sleep by the dull drone of the car taking me towards my new life.

\---

**_Jack_ **

            Jack stepped into his own apartment, darkened by the setting of the sun, and the unilluminated lamp he always neglected to leave on before leaving. He shut the door behind him, internally scolding himself for forgetting such a simple task for the umpteenth time.

            Jack tossed his keys into his pocket, slipped off his shoes, and turned on the lights in one motion. He mentally gave himself a pat on the back for accomplishing all that without tripping.

            The moment he oriented himself in the light, he headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner for himself.

            He cracked open a can of soup, and put a pot of water on the stove to boil. He was tired and worn out from the stress of worrying about Seras, and didn’t feel like making anything fancy for dinner.

He decided that he would visit Seras again tomorrow and together, the two of them could have something nice to make up for all that had happened. Jack smiled at the thought.

            Out of nowhere, Jack heard a dull _thump_ sound from the opposite end of his apartment. Jack was a cautious man, and wasn’t stupid enough to go investigate on his own.

            He turned off the stove, put the can of soup in the fridge, and grabbed his station issued handgun from the drawer next to the fridge. He loaded the gun, and set off to the back of his apartment.

            Jack’s apartment was smaller than Seras’. It only had one bedroom and bathroom in comparison to her two and two. The noise he’d heard had come from his bedroom.

            Jack cautiously crept up to his bedroom door, and turned off the safety on his gun. He waited, listening for another sound. Feeling confident that there was nothing out of place behind his bedroom door, Jack opened it up.

            The moment Jack opened the door, he regretted it.

            There wasn’t a single thing out of place, and the window wasn’t even open. But, the light from the hallway behind Jack should be casting his shadow into the floor in front of him.

            Instead of seeing just one shadow, Jack saw two.

The one that wasn’t his was holding a gun to the back of his head.

            Jack only had time to mentally apologize to Seras for the pain he was about to cause her before he heard the sound of a gun being fired, and the world faded to a colour that was darker than black.


	6. Chapter 5: This is Just the Beginning

Chapter 5: This is Just the Beginning 

**_Alucard_ **

            He sighed obnoxiously once he noticed the girl, Seras, he learned, was asleep.

            Alucard felt something, something strange and unknown to him. It was like what he felt for Integra, only multiplied tenfold in intensity. It was the urge to protect, to support, and to do anything he could to make this girl’s life better. Only one week ago she was living a life she loved. Only when he’d shown up, no, when _Anderson_ had forced him into the kid’s life, had things gone south.

            He was determined to make up for the hell he’d put this this girl through. He was going to fix this.

_I will fix this._

_\---_

            I came to in a dark room. The air was musty and thick, much like my throbbing head. My eyelids were partially bonded together by stale tears, and I could feel the grainy residue clinging to my eyelashes.

            Still dazed and disoriented, I slowly raised one of my hands and rubbed my eyes clean.

            Able to see, I blinked a few times, and then propped myself up into a sitting position.

            I’d been lying down on my stomach, perched delicately across a velvety sofa made of what appeared to be a green fabric. The seats released puffs of a musky, very masculine odor whenever I shifted position.

            I could see very little in the room I was in. It was fairly dark, and the only light was coming from a lamp with a dim bulb off to my right. The room itself was fairly small and square-shaped, but, judging by the multitude of closed doors lining the walls, I could tell that this was only one room in an area with many.

            There was a small table in front of the couch where I sat, and a large cabinet behind me. There was a door on the wall to my right, two more doors on the wall on the opposite side of the room, and a small window, lined with thin, lacy curtains, to my left.

            I felt a pang of emotion in my chest when I realized that the room was actually a part of Alucard’s home. I gulped nervously. I didn’t know why I was nervous. Maybe it was because it was the first time I was staying at another person’s house. Not only was that person almost a complete stranger, they were a grown man.

            I had stayed away from home in the past. Once on a camping trip with Jack, another time on a cruise with my father.

            But, now both of those men were no longer able to be my escape. Vacations would go without my dad’s nagging for me to wear more sunscreen, or hearing Jack’s soft voice as he sang old folk songs around a campfire.

            My eyes began to burn as if acid had replaced the essential fluids contained therein. I blinked rapidly, trying to fight back the painfully beautiful memories.

            I blinked once more, and saw my father’s smile flash behind my eyelids. I inhaled sharply, only to be reminded of Jack’s pine-scented cologne, and thick leather jacket.

            I swallowed in near agony as I felt cold streams of acid spill out over my eyelids. They traced a burning pathway over my cheeks, and I did nothing to stop them.

            Many minutes later, when my thoughts finally shifted to a better place, I wiped the nearly dry remains of my remorse from my face, and stood up. The moment I did so, the door to my right swung open.

            Alucard stepped in, for the first time not cloaked in his scarlet coat. He was in a simple black, button down shirt, and dark jeans. His hair was an inky, tousled mess that hung over his face in such a way that his eyes were shadowed. He stepped through the threshold and shut the door gently behind him.

            On sock covered feet, Alucard padded towards where I stood. I immediately sat back down. It felt like the appropriate thing to do.

            He simply sighed and sat down beside me, the sofa cushions lurching slightly under his weight.

            He leaned forward and put his face in his hands, not making a sound, not murmuring a single word.

            I sat there, staring at him, dumbfounded. I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing, or why he’d come to see me.

            I couldn’t help but let my eyes skim over his hunched figure. The thin fabric of his shirt was pulled tightly over his arms, making it clear to me that Alucard was a man who was _very_ physically active.

            I looked away the second the thought crossed my mind. I felt heat flooding to my face against my will, and scratched the back of my head awkwardly.

            “How are you feeling?” said a muffled, deep voice.

            I looked back over at Alucard and saw a single eye of his staring back at me through his parted fingers. His hair fell over his hands, obscuring the rest of his face, but I could hear the worry in his voice that would’ve otherwise been etched into his face.

            “I’m a lot better, but…” I trailed off, my head turning slowly away from him. “I guess I’m just… I’m just lonely now.” I laughed awkwardly after I said that.

            Alucard lifted his face, his arm reaching around to rub at the nape of his neck. He didn’t make eye contact with me. I looked away in embarrassment.

            “So, you want to work for Hellsing,” he said, breaking the temporary silence.

            “I-,” I began.

            “I want you to understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

            I turned to look at him. He was lounging now, his posture slackened, his face impassive. He looked away from me, and began to speak.

            “Hellsing is a filthy industry. It’s not all clean and pretty like your police force was. It’s not easy, not by a long shot. It’s dangerous, more so than you can even comprehend, more so than I can even explain. You will hunt down criminals, but there will always be one of them hunting you just the same. You think you risked your life as a police girl? If you join Hellsing, you’re not risking your life anymore. You’re throwing it away, and you cannot retrieve it once it’s gone. You can quit, but you will never truly be free of the organization. It’s a shadow, a parasitic choice, Seras. Keep in mind that if you want to find even a fibre of evidence that gives you answers to those questions I see in your eyes, you will have to join. Do not let me change the choice I know you’ve already made. You make your choice, and I guess I’ll help make sure you don’t end up like your team along the way.”

            I looked down at my hands, swallowing his words with a small bead of saliva.

            I did want answers, more than anything. But, with that speech of his, Alucard had only intensified the fears and doubts I held about joining him in Hellsing. I didn’t know whether or not I was making a decision I normally would, but regardless of what was normal, I felt I was doing what was right.

            “I want in,” I said, not looking up. I didn’t have to turn to him to notice when he started staring at me.

            I heard the sofa creak as he shifted position. “Have it your way,” he said, standing up. “Come,” he ordered as he approached the door to the room they were in. “Your training starts now.”

            “Training?” I asked, but Alucard had left the room before the question had left my mouth.

\---

            I followed Alucard out of the room, through a narrow, bare walled hallway, down an even thinner flight of stairs, through a dining room, down yet another stairway, until we finally came to a stop in his basement.

            The basement was fully furnished with dark, hardwood floors, an old, beat-up leather sofa, and an incredibly out-of-date looking television, perched upon a rickety, plastic table.

            Alucard led me past the pseudo living area to the back of the room where, set into the cream coloured wall, was a black door.

            Not bothering to glance back to see if I was still following him, Alucard pressed on, grabbed the small, metal doorknob, and pushed open the door. He stepped forward into the dark room that lay behind.

            I wasn’t afraid, but I felt uneasy about following this man back into a secluded, seemingly closet-like space, with no way for me to escape, should the need for me to do so arise. I furrowed my brow, scolding myself for believing that I was weak enough to be stopped by this man; for believing that Alucard would even consider harming me. With that thought in mind, I followed Alucard into the room.

            Alucard flicked on the light, causing me to stop on my tracks. I was not at all expecting to find what I did in that room.

            The lighting was dim and flickering, painting the room in shades of an off white color, making everything seem aged and dank. There were folded chairs propped against the nude, poorly maintained walls. The floor was padded with a dirty, black tarp-like material. When I turned to the right, I realized just where I was.

            It was a shooting range with individual booths, all separated by thick, glass, panels. At the end of each booth was a man-shaped target, cut out of a black painted slab of wood, each one thoroughly riddled with bullet holes.

            “What-” I started, but Alucard held up a hand to silence me.

            “You carry a gun like you’re carrying a disease,” he said as he turned to face me.

            His eyes were cloudy, as if he wasn’t really seeing me. He seemed incredibly distressed, but he did not allow even a dribble of that emotion to seep into his voice.

            I stood, silent, unsure of what to say.

            “You need to stop it,” he said dully.

            A moment passed. I stood, my eyes wide with confusion as I shifted my weight from foot to foot.

            “I need to stop what?” I asked. I had meant to ask him that question in the same, flat tone he’d used with me, but all the crying I’d been doing had rubbed by throat raw, making me sound more angered than uninterested.

            I saw Alucard’s shoulders drop as he took two tentative steps towards me, his socks squishing in the black material that coated the floor, creating a sound like a plastic bag being folded. One of his hands shifted behind his back, the muscles tensing as he grabbed something I couldn’t see.

            But, when I did see, I immediately regretted wanting to know what it was in the first place.

            It was a gun.

            A normal gun wouldn’t have had the slightest effect on me. I’ve seen them, I’ve handled them, and I’ve even fired them a few times. But this gun, this gun had history.

            That gun had shot my father.

            My vision swam momentarily, and I felt my jaw snap shut. I had apparently been gaping at Alucard without realizing it. I swallowed painfully, setting my jaw while trying to force the watermark images of my father’s lifeless corpse from my mind.

            “I’m gonna teach you how to shoot,” said Alucard, now approaching me quickly. “I am not here to babysit you. I am here to make you into an employee of Hellsing.”

His patience had clearly run out, but coincidentally, so had mine.

            He’d raised his free hand, motioning to place it on my shoulder, presumably to guide me to a booth, but I wouldn’t allow it. I took a step back, ducking just out of Alucard’s reach.

            I wouldn’t fire another gun, not here, not now, and especially not _that_ gun. I couldn’t risk hurting someone with the way my dad had gotten hurt. I know that accidents do happen, and I know that in the end, nothing can be changed, but I am not the stone statue that Alucard is. I could not stay solid if I had known I’d done something even remotely similar to what he’d done. I had fallen to pieces so many times in the past few days that I wasn’t even sure how I was still functioning normally. I would never completely move on.

The pain I felt was one that shouldn’t be hounded away inside of me, inside of my heart. This was an ache that I wanted to talk about, one I wanted to open up to, to let spill not from my eyes, but from my lips as I told someone, anyone about the anguish I felt. I wanted it out of me. I didn’t want to be burdened by the unbearable force of those wounds bearing down upon my being any longer. I wanted to ease the weight, but doing so was not as simple as ringing up a therapist and pouring my feelings out. This was a grief so heavy that it forced my lips shut every time I tried to let it out. It was my pain, it was my suffering, and I was not allowed to share it with anyone. It was mine alone, and thought I did not want it, I had to learn to accept it, to tolerate it at the very least.

I had been beginning to make progress with coping, with attempting to move on from my father, but realistically, just how far could I hope to get from those memories in only a few days?

And then there was what had happened to Jack and the rest of my team, all taken within a span of my father’s death. It was simply tragedy after tragedy. So much was trying to pull me under, to suffocate me in all the guilt and hatred I felt, but I had been fighting, clawing my way out from under that rubble, because that’s what my father, what Jack, and what my team would have wanted me to. I had been making progress indeed, but all of those efforts, those promises I’d made myself in the last few days were all washed away in a torrent of recollection at the sight of a single gun.

“Forget it,” I said, my voice now hollow. I would not touch that weapon under any circumstances. My resolve was set, and I refused to let Alucard get his way. “I already know how to shoot,” I reasoned flatly.

“Prove it,” said Alucard.

He turned the gun in his grip, holding the weapon by the barrel as he thrust the handle towards where I stood.

I shook my head, my blond bangs fluttering against my forehead. “No,” I said, a slight tinge of panic working its way into my voice. “Not now. Not with _that_.”

Alucard raised his eyebrows, his expression a mixture of a bland uncaring and a dark accusation. He dramatically drew the gun towards him as he made a show out of holding it up to the winking lights above, as if inspecting the gun for a flaw.

“I don’t see your issue,” he said, dropping his arms to his sides, and his eyes to mine. Less than a second later, a flicker of understanding crossed his features. He pursed his lips for an instance, and then retreated away from me.

Dismayed, I simply stood. I became uncannily aware of the way my heart was beating, the sound my lungs made with every inhale and exhale I took, the faint glare of the lights against my eyelashes. An empty, shell shocked sensation was working its way through my body, and I didn’t want to stop it.

Alucard, now on the other side of the room, dropped the gun into an empty, plastic bucket. He turned around, pocketing his hands.

“Get into a booth,” he said. His voice was firm, but I couldn’t care less about what he wanted me to do.

I stood fast, not moving an inch.

I saw Alucard scowl, but the motion was tossed aside only a second later.

“I understand,” said Alucard. He reached to his left, grabbed one of the folding chairs and propped it open. He dropped heavily into the seat, stretching out his legs as he folded his arms behind his head. The fabric of his shirt pulled against his taut arms.

            “I understand that you feel like shit. I understand that this is hard. I get that you don’t want to touch the weapon that killed your father,” Alucard stated. “What I don’t understand is why you’d think that I give a fuck about any of that.”

            I swayed where I stood. I wasn’t composed of enough substance to think of a reply. I was so taken aback by his response that I had no idea how to continue.

            “You chose Hellsing, kid. You chose to get your hands dirty. You made that choice the moment you joined up with your police squad. But now, there is no police squad anymore,” Alucard hissed.

He stood abruptly and crossed the room in a flash. Before I knew what was going on, Alucard was in front of me. He bent over, bringing his face level with my own.

            His eyes were borderline maniacal, the red irises pulled into a thin ring around his dilated pupils. His sclera were webbed with swollen blood vessels, blood shot from something other than alcoholism.

            “You have nothing. _Nothing_ ,” breathed Alucard, his voice low and frightening. “Actually, no. You _think_ you have nothing left to fight for. You can’t fight for your father, for that boy, for your squad. You _can’t_ fight for the dead, so you need to focus on the living, and you can’t do that if you-” Alucard lightly tapped my collarbone with his index finger, “- yourself aren’t alive. Do you understand me?”

            I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to.

            “You need to live for those who can’t anymore,” said Alucard, “You hear me?”

            I did hear him. He seemed to notice the slight movement of my eyes, the way the muscles in my face slackened in response.

            Alucard placed his hands on my shoulders. I felt my lips unstick from each other, my face growing pale instead of flush.

            “You will fight for Hellsing. You will fight for what’s right,” he said, his eyes completely fixated on my own. I couldn’t look anywhere without coming across that vibrant red gaze. “Hellsing fights to protect those who have been wronged, those who have nobody left. You made your choice. Stand by it, and save yourself from your heart.”

            I blinked at Alucard. His words had jolted me from one reverie to another. I no longer felt weightless and frail. I felt a heaviness of another kind settle into my gut. I remembered my goals, why I joined the police force in the first place.

 _You need to live for those who can’t anymore_. Alucard’s words flitted like paper butterflies in my skull, their meaning only now dawning on me.

I knew what I had to do. I knew what I wanted, and I knew how to make it happen. I wanted answers, I wanted justice, and Hellsing was my only option to getting any of those things. I had a purpose; I had reason to live on.

Alucard was right. I needed to stop what I was doing and get a hold of myself. I needed to be the woman that everyone I knew thought I was. I needed to grow up, and uphold my decision. Alucard said that I couldn’t fight for the dead, but he was wrong. I could most definitely fight for them, for what they stood for, to keep their memory alive, along with myself. I could do both, and I finally realized how to do it.

Alucard seemed to have picked up on all of the things my mind was telling me, of all the things I’d become aware of. His eyelids were lazily draped across his eyes, his eyebrows tilted in a smug expression, but I knew under that mask that he was satisfied, relieved even, that he’d managed to have some kind of effect on me with that speech he’d given. I knew what he was trying to get me to do, and I wouldn’t let him do it. I wouldn’t snivel or cry, I wouldn’t complain or whine. I would prove Alucard wrong. I am strong, and I would make it so that he would never forget that fact about me.

I sighed out a deep breath, my eyes intently turned upon Alucard’s.

“I didn’t know you wrote poetry,” I said innocently, though I made the challenge in my words very clear with the way I slightly cocked my head to the right, raising my eyebrows at Alucard, daring him to retaliate.

Alucard huffed, his breath glancing off my cheeks.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered deftly, before releasing my shoulders and turning on his heel. He put his hands on his hips as he crossed over to the other side of the room, his back to me.

I was glad he wasn’t looking at me. I was glad that he wouldn’t see the faint, unfamiliar feeling of a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

 


	7. Chapter 6: Progression

Chapter 6: Progression

            Alucard turned around to face me, his posture identical to one my dad often wore when he was about to brief our squad for a task. He looked stern, like a leader, but the curves of his shoulders, the rounded slouch of his upper back made him seem fatherly and simply scolding.

            “Are you ready to move on now?” he asked, his face placid.

            I let my hands curl into fists against my sides. I didn’t say anything in response. I simply nodded.

            Alucard dipped his head down a fraction, regarding my answer. He then jabbed a thumb pointedly towards one of the booths on his right.

            I didn’t protest this time. I felt my legs carry me forward into the booth.

            Surrounded by plastic and glass, I was immediately reminded of my desk back at the police station. I blinked as I inhaled, the memory dissipating with the movement of my lungs.

            Alucard came up behind me carrying a heavy headpiece similar to a pair of headphones made to dull the shots of the gun, along with the gun itself. It wasn’t the same one that he’d had earlier, not the sleek silver device that had killed my father. It was an ordinary handgun, and that I could deal with.

            I took the items from Alucard, donning what I needed to, and holding what I didn’t. I turned my back to him, working my fingers around the chill, metal handle of the gun, trying to get a feel for something that should’ve already felt familiar to me. Facing the target at the end of the booth, I raised the gun, aiming the barrel carefully at the chest of the wooden cut-out.

            I inhaled, then exhaled deeply, and pulled the trigger.

            Three consecutive shots rang out, the sound muted by the headpiece I wore. I had unconsciously shut my eyes when firing the gun, and I hesitantly forced my eyelids apart, wary of seeing where the bullets had landed.

            There were three new holes, all just slightly off-centre of the chest on the target. My eyebrows rose in a satisfactory disbelief, and I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder. I started, lowering the gun as I turned to Alucard.

            His face was blank, save for the slight elevation of his eyebrows that told me that he’d been pleasantly surprised. I felt like I should have smiled at him, but the expression didn’t come as easily to me as it did earlier.

            His began to move his lips, as if speaking, but I was unable to hear the sound. My eyes widened in incredulity, thinking I’d gone deaf, but the moment passed instantly as I remembered the noise-cancelling headpiece I had on. I tugged it off quickly, refocusing my attention on Alucard.

            “I think I missed everything you just said,” I told him meekly, forcing myself not to break away from his solid gaze.

            Alucard’s features fell in mild annoyance. “I said,” he began, his voice flat, “that you do know how to use that thing, and that we’re done here. I also asked what you wanted for dinner.”

            I blinked, caught off guard by the almost surreal normalcy of Alucard asking what I wanted for dinner. It was so regular and simple that it was foreign. After days of death and grief, sitting down to have a meal with someone was a dream-like and unreal concept.

            “Uh… I don’t know,” I said honestly. Heat flooded my cheeks in embarrassment, and if Alucard noticed, he didn’t make it seem like he had.

            Alucard exhaled in a slightly aggravated manner. “Fine, I’ll pick then,” he said, his tone just as empty as it had been before.

            He reached out fluidly, grabbing the gun and the headpiece from me. He crossed the room in lazy, long strides, tossing the items into a seemingly random bin before motioning for me to follow him again.

            Eyes wide, I trailed along behind him.

\---

            Alucard’s kitchen was so similar to my own that it made me ache to be in the room. It was quaint and painted an off-white cream color, with a small wooden table and even smaller jars lined neatly along the countertop. There was a window above the sink on the left wall, the evening light pouring in like the water of a summer creek. The back door was shut and stained with ancient fingerprints. The cream colored, plastic blinds were drawn but not pulled shut. It was clean and homey, and it made me miss my father. I didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, before Alucard nudged me into one of the four chairs at the table, tossing a laminated Chinese take-out pamphlet in front of me while he picked up an old-looking cordless phone and began to dial a number.

            I leafed through the options on the pamphlet, not quite understanding what I was reading. I was still dazed from the sudden switch between pain and pleasantries. I assumed that this was Alucard’s strange way of telling me that it was really time to move on. What had happened had happened, and there was no point in crying over it anymore. He’d let me grieve, but he’d had enough, and he thought that I felt the same. I did, I did want to move forward, but it wasn’t as easy as I’d previously made it out to be.

            “Hi, yeah, I would like to order take-out,” Alucard said, facing one of the kitchen’s walls. He was working the fingers of his right hand through his hair, slowly, as if the motion was meant to subside the pain of a headache as opposed to untangling the knots in his hair. I watched, dazed for a reason I wasn’t aware of, while Alucard’s hard exterior seemed to melt away.

            I was torn from my hazy daydream as Alucard began to rapidly flail is hand in an over-dramatic wave, attempting to get my attention. I sat bolt upright, my spine pulling taut against my skin, my eyes blinking in apology and embarrassment. I tilted my head to one side in question, unsure of what it was he wanted.

            Alucard placed his hand over the lower half of the receiver, dipping his head a little ways back to shake his hair out of his face. The black locks tumbled over his shoulder like a river of shadows over smooth boulders.

 “Did you pick something yet?” he asked expectantly.

            “Oh!” I exclaimed. I grabbed the pamphlet again and skimmed the text again, eventually settling on an order of honey glazed chicken with noodles and mixed veggies. Alucard repeated the order to the person on the other end of the line, and hung up seconds later.

            He hung the receiver back in its cradle, approached the table, and pulled out the chair across from my own, almost hesitantly lowering himself into it.

            We sat in silence for a few moments. It wasn’t an awkward or thick silence, though. It was light and patiently waited for somebody to break it, like the wrapping paper of a gift. It was a silence meant to bring people together rather than split them farther away from each other. It was a bridge as opposed to a barrier.

It worried me, the companionable quality of the silence. I’d only just met this man, I knew next to nothing about him, about his business, about anything, and here I was, sitting across from him at his kitchen table as if I’d known him for years.

            I wanted to shake the fact that the reason I was at his home in the first place was because from the moment he’d introduced himself into my life, I’d lost everyone I’d ever cared about. But I couldn’t think about that, not any more. I’d had enough time to sulk, to blame him for something that was out of his control. He acted indifferent to the incidents, but he was a human being, and he must, he had to, have felt some kind of guilt or pain as well. How could I expect him to move on if I myself wasn’t able to?

            “Kid,” Alucard said suddenly.

            I started again. I wasn’t sure why I was so jumpy, but every time he addressed me, I was strangely surprised.

            I didn’t notice until then that Alucard had a few pieces of paper in front of him and was jotting things down on them in pen. They were official looking documents with an intricate crest printed at the top right corner of each page.

            I met his semi-annoyed gaze with my own slightly flustered one. He was leaning over the papers, staring intently at me in scrutiny. He must have been as thrown off by my zoning out as I was, but wouldn’t show it any more than he already had.

            “I need to fill out these forms to get you a position at Hellsing,” he said, his tone making it obvious that he’d already said those exact words once before, and I hadn’t heard him again. “I asked for your birthdate and full name.”

            I gulped down my mistake, giving Alucard an apologetic look that I hope appeared as genuine as I felt. I internally slapped myself for being so docile. Couldn’t he tell I was experiencing inner unrest and I was having trouble adjusting to normal life once again? Another part of me groaned in response the moment that thought crossed my mind. I was acting spoiled and bratty. I reached my arms under the table, out of Alucard’s view, and pinched my wrist hopefully hard enough to keep me focused for as long as I needed to.

            I gave Alucard the information he asked for, repeating the words methodically as if I were reading off of a script he couldn’t see. It took less than ten minutes for Alucard to fill everything out, since he was the one who had to fill out most of the forms, and he didn’t ask me very many questions.

            After finishing up with the papers, Alucard and I lapsed back into quietude. It was growing dark outside, with the light streaming through the blinds burning a heavy red. It made the interior of the kitchen appear to be set aflame by the unwavering hues of gold and scarlet. I couldn’t hear anything, save for my own breathing, and the faint rustling of fabric against paper as Alucard shifted in his seat, idly twirling a pen around his fingers.

            “Do you want to watch TV?” Alucard asked abruptly.

            The silence that had been wrapped around both of us like a downy blanket had been tossed aside faster than I could comprehend. I shivered, rubbing one of my socked feet over the other. I looked at Alucard, whose eyes were cast to the left, staring out the back door of his home. His eyes were a luminescent orange, his face calm like the dead of night. His dark hair pooled around his face like the cloak of a stranger, his high cheekbones glowing with the evening light.

            “Yeah, sure,” I said, my voice unnaturally hoarse.

            Alucard dipped his head in a half nod and got to his feet. I stood up, following him as he led me out of the kitchen.

            He led me to the next room over, one that was darkened by the thick, velvety curtains draped across the two, wide windows on the far wall. There was a pair of French doors to enter and exit the room, the glass sparkling in the dim light of the hallway lamps.

            Alucard turned the curly, metal handle on one of the doors, ushering me into the room. He flicked on the light, and headed straight for the sofa.

            The room was plush with thick rugs, fabric sofas and cushions. The TV was on a stand on the left, and a long couch and an armchair were angled to face it. There were paintings of old European buildings over the green and grey wallpapered walls,  and various potted plants, real or not, lay tucked around many of the room’s corners.

            Though Alucard had turned on the light, the room was still barely lit. Most of the light came in through the glass of the French doors from the hall; the small lamp he’d turned on upon entry did little to brighten the area.

            Alucard sat on the right most cushion of the couch, his arm lazily slung across the back of the seat. He held the TV remote in his other hand, flipping through channels with half-lidded eyes.

            I tried to approach the sofa without appearing as awkward as I knew I looked. It was difficult, but I managed to cross the room without causing him to glare at me once.

            I dropped down into the seat next to him, trying to ignore the fact that his arm was mere inches from resting around my hunched shoulders. There was enough space between us, but I still felt very aware of his presence next to me.

            I exhaled slowly, swallowing at a terrifyingly slow pace, trying to slow my heart from its wild gallop through my chest. I folded my hands into a neat clasp in my lap, forcing my eyes to stay trained on the TV.

            I blinked and scowled internally, wondering why I was experiencing the strange feelings I felt in that moment. Unable to find an answer for myself, I turned my attention away from my mind and to the television.

            Alucard had settled on watching the evening news. The stories weren’t very captivating, but it was better than anything at distracting me from myself.

            Just a little under half an hour later, the doorbell rang, chiming a sweet, melodic song. Alucard rose out of his seat in a movement so languid it was catlike. He left the room before I could turn my head to look after him.

            I got up after he’d already shut the front door and taken the food from the delivery man. I made it into the hallway while Alucard was already thumping around in the kitchen, grabbing plates, glasses, and cutlery.

            We dealt out our meals, sitting across from each other at the kitchen table once again. The sun had set and Alucard had drawn the blinds. The room was now lit a pale, otherworldly yellow, the color of sweet honey with the single light in the ceiling above the table. We didn’t talk while we ate, choosing to share silence instead of words.

            We finished and did the dishes together, as if it were the most natural thing ever. We didn’t speak the entire time, but it felt as if we didn’t need to. So, by the time we’d done everything we needed to, I realized that I didn’t have to ask Alucard where he was going when he left the kitchen.

            I fell into step behind him, following him back into the TV room.

            He didn’t bother turning on the light this time, but it didn’t seem to matter. The TV was bright enough anyway, with or without the lamp light from the hall or the room.

            Feeling bolder, I sat just a tad closer to Alucard, his arm still draped around the top of the sofa.

            Even with the sound of the TV filling the emptiness of the night, I was still very aware of the silence between us. It was easy to miss, but it could be found in the space between our bodies, the gap between his arm and my shoulders, the crevice between my head and his chest. I tried to set it aside and let the voice of the late night news anchor drown away the other pressing silences, but it wasn’t to be done.

            I felt my body move, tugged by strings I couldn’t see, slightly closer to Alucard’s side. If I was very still, I could almost make out the delicate crinkle of his shirt with his every breath, the gentle thrumming of his heart, and all of the other things that made him human.

            There wasn’t very much space between us now, and my own heart was performing a gymnastic routine in my chest. It ached a little, but did not feel bad. The silence between us seemed to wan away, and I felt my body relax, though I didn’t remember being very uptight to begin with.

            I felt Alucard’s body heat radiating onto me, feeling as if layer upon layer of warm blankets were being laid down over me. My eyelids grew heavy with the comforting feeling of having somebody close by. Deep breath after deep breath, I felt myself being swept away from the lucid shores of consciousness, into the calm, inviting seas of sleep.

**_Alucard_ **

            The sound of birds singing outside made him swing his head to the right, tossing away his slumber like a fickle piece of paper caught in the wind.

            Crisp, shimmering sunlight seeped through the small parted spaces between the heavy curtains, turning their dark, navy fabric a deep violet shade. It was still very early in the morning, just after six a.m. by latest.

            Alucard moved to get up, but forced himself to freeze instead. He looked over to his left, feeling any and all tension he’d had drip away like the thawing of a winter frost.

            The girl was asleep, breathing dainty little sighs as she slept, her cheeks flushed faintly, her lips parted slightly. Her head of short, blond hair was resting on his chest, his arm around her shoulders, though he couldn’t remember putting it there. One of her hands lay resting on his stomach, and he became startlingly aware of how close she was to him.

            Alucard blinked, unsure of how to proceed. He was not expecting her to just be _there_ , asleep against him. Though, he hadn’t exactly given her much attention since she’d arrived, other than dinner and demanding that she get over her pain and move on with her life. He felt a jolt of uncalled for regret, and scowled at himself. Seeing as he couldn’t move without waking her, and she did need rest, he eased himself back into the plush sofa, trying not to disturb the police girl with his movement.

            He glanced over at her again, feeling her breath through the black material of his shirt, warm against his chest. She smelled like the sky after a rainfall, like the sweet sap of a budding cherry blossom. Her golden hair shone like the sun itself, her skin appearing like white silk against his shadowy shirt.

            He felt himself turn away, finding it unreasonable for him to stare at her any longer. But, he still felt her small body against his, and realized that whatever he’d been planning to do wouldn’t happen for at least another couple hours.

            Mildly annoyed, though internally greatly satisfied, Alucard relaxed himself. He shut his own eyes, ignoring the torrential hammering of his heart, the chill that was working its way through his body, coming from the place where her head lay. He let his muscles loosen, feeling his head loll to one side.

            He felt the soft brush of her hair against his cheek, feeling more like a featherlike kiss than simply her hair. He fought himself, reminding himself how stupid it would be if he were to overstep himself. He exhaled slowly, monitoring the rise and fall of his chest so that it wouldn’t bother the police girl.

            Sure, he’d hugged her only a few days prior, but that had been different. He understood that she was utterly alone in the world, and he understood that she probably wouldn’t be as sane as she was now if he hadn’t shown up when he had and comforted her.

            _When the hell did I get so goddamn soft?_ he thought, his brows crinkling as he scowled.

            He opened his eyes, his gaze met by the glow of pure sunlight against her bright hair. He didn’t know if he even cared about her at all. He admitted that it would be quite terrible should she die, but only a week ago, he’d been perfectly fine on his own. He assumed he didn’t realize how much solitude could get to a person until he’d lost the solitude. He scoffed silently, shutting his eyes again.

            _Fuck it,_ he reasoned, _maybe Integra will get off my case if I keep her around for a little while._

            Intoxicated by the sweet scent of the small girl beside him, Alucard allowed his own waves of tiredness to drift him out into a deep, dreary, much needed slumber.

           

 


	8. Chapter 7: In the Blink of an Eye

Chapter 7: In the Blink of an Eye

**_Alucard_ **

            The second time he woke up, he didn’t have to worry about being self-conscious. Such a thing was as unfamiliar to him as being alone was to the police girl. As he cracked his sleep crusted eyes open, he inhaled, arching his spine as he stretched the remains of his slumber away.

            The morning light was tenfold brighter than it had been earlier. The curtains were splashed with patches of pale lavender, midnight violet and royal blue. He could hear the drone of cars off in the distance melding almost melodically with the laughter and chatter of pedestrians outside. Birds were chirping loudly, and if he was very careful, he could hear the wind as it tossed the leaves of the springtime trees every which way.

            The police girl lay on the opposite side of the sofa. She was on her side, her head resting on her neatly placed arms that she’d tucked under her head of golden hair. Her lips were parted as she drew her breaths, her chest rising and falling like the swell of the tide.

            Feeling satisfied that the girl would not wake up, he gingerly got to his feet.

            _Crap,_ he thought as he heard his own stomach rumble with the intensity of an oncoming storm, _I have nothing in the fridge but Chinese leftovers._

He padded over the plush carpets to the set of dark, wooden set of drawers to the left of the French doors. He pulled open the first of the six drawers, one on the top left corner, and grabbed a set of keys. He picked up his personalized gun, the silver weapon that had left the police girl shell shocked for a short time yesterday. He tucked the keys into the pocket of his dark jeans, and the gun into his waistband, concealing the weapon beneath the coal black fabric of his shirt.

            _Better head out before the traffic gets too bad,_ he thought idly as he approached the front door. Thin, wooden and painted a disgusting shade of green, he wondered why no thieves had taken it upon themselves to attempt a robbery on his place. The door didn’t exactly pose as the best of barriers from intruders.

            _It’s not like I’ve got anything really valuable in here anyway,_ he thought as he slipped on a pair of simple shoes.

            As he blinked, an image of the police girl flashed behind his eyelids, reminding himself that he did in fact have something quite valuable in his home after all. He coughed, tossing aside all the useless feelings and emotions that were vying for his rapidly declining attention.

            He grabbed the wobbly old doorknob with its rusted screws and peeling, gold paint, and threw open the door.

The warm breath of the spring morning blew into his face in a harsh gust that sent his black hair flying wildly about his face. The air smelled sweet with dew and nectar, but sour with the scent of humanity.

_I hope this doesn’t take too long_ , he thought as he gently pulled the door shut.

\---

            The sound of a door slamming shut brought me out of the dreamland in my head.

            My head felt heavy and distant, as if I’d been wearing a thick helmet for a prolonged period of time. I felt muddled and lost, my mind swimming in heat.

            It was warm in the room, but not in a muggy or uncomfortable way. It was unusually cozy and soft and made me want to fall back asleep. I yawned, propping myself up on one arm as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with my free hand.

            I suppose the first thing I really noticed was the lack of Alucard’s presence. I remembered falling asleep beside him, but I recalled nothing after that. I exhaled deeply, fighting off the lingering grasp of fatigue that tugged gently against my wavering state of consciousness.

            I sat upright, leaning my back against the soft sofa. The air smelled musky with stale cologne. I could see miniscule beads of dust suspended in the beams of bright sunlight that streamed in through the gaps in the curtains.

            A moment of still silence passed, and I began to feel myself retreat within my mind. I was alone again. I wondered if Alucard had left the home altogether, or was simply in another area of the house. I sat for a minute, listening for signs of life inside of the home. After hearing nothing, I realized that Alucard had most likely gone out. Where and why was beyond me.

I carefully forced myself to my feet, my face wearing a muted expression of concern.

            I didn’t know what exactly I was feeling. I was all by myself, that alone being quite the unfamiliar feeling. I felt rested, which was something I hadn’t experienced in weeks, or so it felt. I was groggy, but wide awake, and as per my stomach’s demand, I was very hungry.

            Steering my body towards the French doors, I noticed that something had changed. There was a set of wooden drawers placed just to the left of the doors, one of which was cracked open just a bit. I approached it tiredly, my eyes drooping against my direction.

            The first drawer on the left had been opened and not fully shut. I grabbed the small, metal handle and pulled it open, my actions slow and delayed with restful lethargy.

            The drawer was mostly devoid of objects. There were a few envelops housing what looked like old invoices and receipts, as well as a few old, used rounds from a handgun. Seeing nothing particularly interesting, I shut the drawer all the way, and exited the room.

            It was dim in the hallway. The lights were off, but enough of the sun came through the small, dusty window at the top of the old, decaying front door. The flaxen beams were cut and cracked, the refracted fragments bouncing off of all the walls and decor in the hallway. I stood still for a moment, lost in thought, staring at the light. A car horn honked loudly just outside the house as it drove past, knocking me back into action. I continued onwards, into the kitchen. 

            It was empty in the kitchen, as was expected. The polished, wooden table top shone with the gleam of the morning light, glowing almost golden in hue. The jars along the counter reflected the sparkling rays, fully illuminating the room without the need for artificial light.

            Staring into the quaint room, I forgot completely about my growing hunger. I stood next to the table, my fingertips tracing over the varnished wooden patterns.

            It felt as if Alucard had never been in the kitchen before. The room itself spoke of a soft spoken, bashful demeanor, one that was quite different from Alucard. It indicated that a whole other type of person inhabited this little abode. I felt myself dropping into one of the wooden chairs, the same one I’d sat in the night before as I began to ponder over Alucard.

             I realized I could be wrong. I realized that I knew next to nothing about him. He was indeed quiet, but as I recalled my first conversation with him in the hospital only a few days ago, I remembered that he could be much more outspoken if he so desired.

            I knew he was reserved and didn’t like company. He carried himself like he was used to being alone, and enjoyed being that way. He was confident, but a part of me doubted that notion, dubbing the confidence a front for hiding away what he didn’t want to think about. He could be tormented by ghosts from his past, but what would I know about that? He didn’t have a single photograph of another person in his place, no belongings that looked like they meant something personal to him.

            Maybe he was fickle, a wanderer. Maybe he did have people in his life, but none who he’d genuinely gotten close with. Maybe he spoke to his colleagues, or was on neutral terms with those at his workplace, but I doubted that they knew any more about him than I did.

            Maybe I was wrong about that as well. Maybe he did have friends; maybe he did care about other people. Maybe he just wasn’t sentimental, preferring to live in the present and let his past go.

            Or maybe he was truly as alone as he seemed. His home, though filled with furniture, didn’t boast the fact that Alucard had company often, or had company at all. Maybe he’d distanced himself to deal with his own unrest. Maybe he did better with dealing with his own issues on his own. Maybe he preferred to sort through his problems on his own, instead of being forced to come another person.

            Perhaps he’d tried something like that in the past. Maybe he did have someone he cared about and had tried to talk to them, but it hadn’t worked. Maybe his simply thought he was alone, but in reality was surrounded by people who cared about him. He could believe that he was distancing those people for the sake of their own protection. Maybe he believed that he and his problems were a burden to others, and had removed himself from the situation.

            Maybe he’d been in a spoiled friendship, or had suffered from a relationship gone sour. Maybe he’d lost someone who he felt was irreplaceable. What if he was afraid of becoming attached to anything from fear of losing something he cared for?

            There was all manner of things that could have happened, but the one that seemed most likely to me was that Alucard was simply a solitary figure. He merely preferred to work alone, to handle himself on his own, and only do what was necessary. He didn’t seem like a person who did things that had no meaning. He seemed very aware of his actions and the impacts they could have, the risks they might come with.

            I wondered if he felt fear, or longing, or confusion. He always appeared as if he knew exactly what he was doing, like he was an actor following cues instead of a man living his life. He was sure footed and unwavering, but despite all that, he was human.

            I wondered how he handled all the different things he felt. I wondered if he paid his own emotions any regard. I wondered if maybe he hadn’t always been the way he was now, if there was a time where he was more alive, more animated as opposed to the still silhouette that I’d been introduced to.

            I wondered above all else what his opinion of me was.

            He’d been at my bedside in the hospital, but he was required to stay there since he’d brought me in. My father was dead because he’d been attempting to lay an Iscariot member to rest, but he hadn’t been indifferent to that. He was aware of the pain he’d caused me, so it is only natural to assume he felt guilt for his actions. He wouldn’t have apologized if he didn’t mean it. If he hadn’t felt anything, he wouldn’t have approached me; he wouldn’t have done anything after he’d made his mistake. To act upon something that meant nothing to him would have been unnecessary. He wouldn’t have wasted time with something that was unimportant to him.

            Were all of his actions up until now guilt driven? Had he only been running into me because he felt bad about what he’d done? That didn’t explain what he was doing at the police station when I discovered what had happened to Jack and the rest of my             squad.

            The sleep-tightened muscles in my face relaxed as I recalled a very important detail about the deaths of my best friend and workforce.

            _It was the Iscariot, that’s all we know_.

            I remember the head officer repeating that as my mind slowly spiraled into oblivion that day. It was the only explanation as to why Alucard had been there. He worked for Hellsing, and Hellsing worked to put an end to gang violence in the area. He must have been sent to go examine the newest bodies for evidence to lead Hellsing closer to finding their target, and had encountered me having a breakdown instead.

            I felt a prickling warmth seep into my cheeks, my palms going sweaty against the tops of my jean-clad thighs.

            He’d caught me when I fell, in a quite literal sense. He’d comforted me, and had given me my first opportunity to really move on. Those actions didn’t seem to be spurred by guilt. They seemed natural and instinctual. Was he simply reacting to what he was seeing? But, if that was the case, what would cause him to invite me to join Hellsing?

            Maybe he’d been told to bring back any survivors for questioning. But, he hadn’t spoken of Jack or my team since that day. What if he knew that I couldn’t stand to be alone and would have needed to go with him, to go with _someone_ in order to be myself again? Why would that even be of any importance or concern to him?

            What if _he_ was tired of being alone? What if he only asked so that he could attempt to connect with another human being? I shook my head, resting my elbows on the table in front of me, pressing my face into my palms.

            I didn’t understand what he felt, not in the slightest regard. I now had more questions about him, his motives, everything, than I did initially. Not to mention that I myself had no idea what exactly I felt about him.

            I propped my face up, leaning my cheek into my right palm, my eyes staring blankly out into the kitchen.

            _What do I feel about Alucard?_

The thought floated around my mind like an old Windows screensaver.

            There was no point in lying to myself. He was a fairly attractive man. He was good looking and I couldn’t deny the fact forever. I rubbed one of my socked feet over the other, my face growing warmer by the second.

            Besides that, I wasn’t attracted to him in any other way. At least, it didn’t feel like I did. I couldn’t come up for a rational reason for feeling like this, but, I realized that I did, in a way, enjoy his company. I didn’t mind being around him.

            Maybe it was a part of me missing my father. My mind might have substituted the next closest man it found to fill his place. He was stern, more so than my dad, but his actions were reasonable and not impulsive. The latter reminded me of my father more than the former.

My father was the ‘comfort by being there, not by reciting a speech’ type. When I’d lost my first pet, gotten into a fight with Jack in middle school, and even when I’d lost my mother, my dad didn’t say very much to try and make me feel better. He simply stood by me, giving my hand a squeeze if I began to shake, or a hug if I couldn’t hold it together anymore.

Alucard reminded me of him. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t trying to run out of his place. Maybe that’s why I’m willing to try and move on.

Maybe, with Alucard, I can gain back what I’ve lost.

I yawned, deep and swell, my eyes tearing up at the corners. Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall across from me, I groaned.

8:51 a.m. read the clock.

I folded my arms into a pile in front of me and placed my head where they connected, tucking my face into my sleeves.

My stomach took that precise moment to moan audibly, the sound seeming to echo around the kitchen.

I silently willed for Alucard to return from wherever he’d disappeared to with a bagel and a steaming cup of tea.

\---

**_Alucard_ **

_I hate grocery stores_ , he thought as he shivered near violently for the umpteenth time. _They’re too damn cold_.

He was standing in front of the eggs and dairy section of the nearest grocery store in downtown Toronto. It was uncharacteristically humid for a Toronto spring outside, yet it felt like the dead of winter inside the store. He regretted not grabbing a jacket before he left.

He grabbed a carton of eggs and tucked it into the corner of the plastic grocery basket he had hooked onto his arm. The hard, angular handle dug irritatingly into the crook of his elbow. He contemplated dropping the thing onto the floor and heading straight for the nearest fast food place, but forced himself to remain as he was. The police girl was too thin to eat fast food regularly. She’d probably have a heart attack just at the sight of a burger.

_When did I start giving a fuck about what she wants?_ he heard himself scold.

He scoffed and tried to brush off the next thought that followed, but by that time, it was already too late.

_What is it that she wants?_

He wasn’t referring to her meals. He was pretty certain that eggs and bacon was a universally accepted breakfast choice, by skinny blond girls and dark, burly men alike. He was referring to _her_.

Why hadn’t she put up a fight back at the police station the other day? She came with him so willingly it was almost comical. Almost. If he’d been a creep, he would’ve been able to get away with consensual kidnapping.  He scowled with his eyebrows for allowing himself to joke over something like that.

He turned away from the eggs and began to head over to the bakery aisle.

She didn’t like him. She couldn’t. What human being would be stupid enough to willingly hang out with the person who killed their father?

_But it wasn’t my fault_ , he heard himself reason.

Like hell it wasn’t his fault. He pulled the trigger, he’d killed a man, and now she’s sitting back at his place. Why she was still there was a mystery to him. Why she allowed herself to fall asleep on him was an even bigger one. The fingers of his free hand curled tactfully into a fist in response to the jarring clench he felt in his gut the moment he remembered waking up this morning.

_She doesn’t blame me anymore_ , he thought, the words in his mind forming almost tentatively, as if thinking them might make them untrue.

            Why didn’t she blame him? His eyes bored holes into the loaves of bread in front of him, unsatisfied with every piece he saw.

            _Because I didn’t want her to_ , he recalled, _I wanted her to move on. She can help me get Anderson_.

            He fought the urge to groan out loud in front of his whole grain audience. He knew that wasn’t the only reason he’d wanted her to move on.

            _How can I forget what I did if she’s constantly reminding me of it?_

            Either way, he knew his actions were selfish. He didn’t really care all that much about her, only the effect that she had on him. He needed to be okay. He needed to be the same man he was a month ago in order to put an end to the Iscariot. He couldn’t do that if all he did was silently sulk over his mistakes.

            In the past, forgetting hadn’t been much of an issue. Integra would nag him for a couple of days, but it would pass, and he’d proceed with the next project. This was different.

            The mistake was a breathing, living person. Every time he looked at her, he was taken back to the night he screwed up worse than he had ever before. He wasn’t able to forget, but he hoped that if she herself was able to get over what had happened, then he would be able to as well.

            _What is it I want from her?_

            The thought slapped him in the face harder than the wind had when he’d left home this morning. It came out of nowhere, or so it seemed. He knew he’d been thinking about that question, but would never admit it, not even to himself.

He wanted her safe, that much he knew. He felt for her what he felt for Integra: the urge to defend, to protect.

            _Why?_   he heard himself ask.

            He spun away from the rack of prebaked loaves in front of him and turned to face the freshly baked area of the bakery.

            He owed her security after he’d stripped everything she had away from her. Maybe he hadn’t killed her entire team and that boy, but none of them would’ve been a target if he hadn’t been there in the first place.

            “ _I’m just doing my job!”_

            The echo of her voice invaded his mind. His grip on the basket loosened just a hairsbreadth. He’d already had this conversation with the police girl, with his boss, and with himself. He didn’t need to mull over his actions anymore.        

            “ _And I’m just doing mine,_ ” his own voice responded, playing over the conversation again and again, until another thought interrupted.

            _What does she mean to me?_

            “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. His voice was so low that he wasn’t even sure if he’d said the statement out loud or in his mind.

            He didn’t know what she meant. She meant… She meant that he wouldn’t fully be able to move on from the recent past, but, he’d be able to finally have the success he’d been looking for. She meant change was happening, that he was changing, but changing how, and into who, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he was okay with it, or whether or not it was the right choice, but he wouldn’t know unless he experienced the effects of his decision first hand, and to do that, he needed time.

            After appearing to stare at the shelf in front of him blankly for too long for it to be considered scrutinizing, he settled on a fresh, white baguette, and headed straight for the cashier.

            As he waited in the startlingly long express line, he felt another chill work its way down his spine. It wasn’t due to the cold of the grocery store, or the uncomfortable feeling he always felt while being near too many people at once, it was duller, yet stabbing, like he’d just come to realize something he’d known all along.

            _I’m glad that I met her_.

            His eyes widened visibly for just a second, the movement so quick that nobody would’ve noticed, even if they’d been staring him down. He shoved his free hand into his pocket, the flesh of his fingers biting into the teeth of his car keys.

            _I hate grocery stores_ , he thought, as he finally got called to register number six.

\---

            _Scratch, scratch,_ pause _, scratch,_ pause _, tap._

I felt my eyelids trying to force themselves apart. My eyes met with the clock on the other side of the room: 9:26 a.m. It was time for me to get up.

_Tap,_ pause _, tap,_ pause _, tap._

I wasn’t sure what I was hearing, but it was odd. It was a sound that was out of the ordinary, one I hadn’t been hearing at all before I dozed off, or during my nap. This was a new sound. It wasn’t the noise that came with someone knocking at a door or window, or the sounds of construction that frequent the residential areas of downtown Toronto.

_Scratch, scratch,_ pause _, scratch,_ pause _, tap._

I rose from my seat sleepily. The sound was getting a bit annoying, but not enough to cause me to rush and see what it was. Maybe a window had gotten blown open and the blinds were tapping against the window frame. Or maybe there was a poor, confused bird trying to get inside.

I exited kitchen lazily, my limbs stiff with sleep. I trudged into the hallway, listening intently for the sounds.

_Scratch, scratch,_ pause _, scratch,_ pause _, tap._

It was coming from somewhere to my right. I turned and was greeted by the sight of the living room. It looked just as it did when I’d left earlier. The curtains were drawn, the windows beyond them shut, and everything else lay untouched and undisturbed.

Seeing as I didn’t want to sit in the kitchen any longer, I decided that I might as well watch T.V. while I waited for Alucard to come back from wherever he’d gone.

I entered the room, shutting the door behind me. I made my way to the sofa and dropped down heavily into the plush material. It sunk beneath my weight as if I’d fallen into a waterbed instead of a retro couch. I felt myself smiling childishly as the squishy consistency of the sofa’s stuffing as I reached for the remote.

_Tap,_ pause _, tap,_ pause _, tap._

I might not have been earlier, but now I was getting annoyed. I stood up abruptly, swaying a little on my heels as I momentarily lost my balance.

_Scratch, scratch,_ pause _, scratch,_ pause _, tap._

I turned to the right, towards the nearest of the shrouded windows. I felt like the stupid girl in a horror movie who died first from obvious wrong moves. I knew not to investigate things like this unarmed, but curiosity was my downfall, or so my father always said. Maybe he’d said that trust was my downfall, but I shoved the thoughts aside, determining them irrelevant.

_Tap,_ pause _, tap,_ pause _._

I stood, my brows drawn together as I noticed an irregularity with the pattern that had been going on for minutes now.

I waited a good five minutes, but the sounds didn’t return. Sweat was nearly dripping down my neck and over my fingertips. I wasn’t warm at all. I was shivering anxiously, afraid of something unknown to me.

I extended an arm, reaching for the curtain. I took hold of the silken fabric in my slicked palm, and pulled it aside.

I fought to keep myself from screaming.

My eyes grew wide, my blood freezing instantly like a rose dipped into liquid nitrogen. I began to shake. Fear, horror, and repulsion gnawed at my mind, threatening to knock me unconscious and take me away from where I was.

Carved into the glass in thin, jagged strokes were the words: _12 DOWN, 1 TO GO._ That wasn’t the worst part.

The words were written normally from left to right, meaning that whoever had carved them had done it from the inside.

I wasn’t alone anymore.

My eyes were glued to the glass, trying to decipher their meaning. Twelve down… An image of my father’s smiling face flashed like a vibrant bolt of lightning in front of my intense gaze.

My squad. There were thirteen of us total, including my father and I.

I was the only survivor.

My vision blurred momentarily as a wave of sickening dizziness crawled under my skin, making every hair on my body stand straight up. I blinked rapidly, my limbs unable to move. My eyes refocused on the glass, staring at my terror stricken reflection instead of the chilling words suspended in front of me. Choosing to do so was a mistake.

Reflected in the glass was not only me, but the semi-transparent image of a man in a long, white coat with blond, spiky hair standing on the opposite side of the room. He wore a maniacal grin and a cream colored business suit beneath the jacket. I recognized him immediately.

He was the man who’d originally threatened my father, the Iscariot member who’d been Alucard’s target. Like the last time I’d seen him, he was armed, only this time, it wasn’t a knife. This time, it was a gun, silver like Alucard’s.

This time, the weapon was pointed at me.

 


	9. Chapter 8: Disconnection

Chapter 8: Disconnection

**_Alucard_ **

            It was hot, way too hot for his taste. The sun was blazing a fiery gold ahead of him while the sickly sweet spring air rushed in and out of his car through the open windows. Sweat coated his forehead in a slick layer of moisture. His mood was foul, and his patience had run dry while arguing with a cashier at the grocery store for just less than ten minutes over the price of the baguette he’d picked up.

            Though it was fairly noisy outside with the sounds of construction workers, impatient drivers, and idiotic pedestrians, he still noticed when his small mobile phone, silver and technologically out of date, began to vibrate. It lay in the centre of the leather seat beside him, buzzing angrily as it demanded his immediate attention.

            He knew it was against the law to drive and use a mobile, but he assumed whoever was calling him was doing so due to an emergency. After all, only two people had his mobile number.

            His fingers were curled tightly around the steering wheel of his car, the black material coating the apparatus growing ever hotter beneath his dampened palms. He glanced over at the phone as it buzzed louder than ever. His brows dropped, his eyelids lowering in annoyance as he reached over and flipped the phone open. He pressed the speaker button as he placed the device on his lap.

            “Alucard?” said the voice on the other end of the line.

            His eyebrows rose as he realized who the caller was.

            “Speaking,” he said, his tone lackluster and full of supressed discontent.

            “Alucard, where the hell are you?” demanded his boss.

            “Driving,” he said, his voice straining as he leaned a little ways out of his window to get a better view of the congested road in front of him. He scowled at the jam-packed street, and watched in mild shock as the traffic almost instantly began to clear out.

            “You’d better be driving to the office,” she said stonily.

            “I’m not coming in today,” he stated flatly.

            The line went silent, becoming momentarily occupied by a scratchy, static-like sound. “You offered her a position, didn’t you?” she asked.

            Alucard hadn’t mentioned a thing about the police girl to his boss, not since that day back at the police station. He’d only said that he’d run into her, nothing else. He could most definitely lie and say that he hadn’t offered her anything at all, but Integra would see through him faster than he could think of a satisfactory come back.

            Instead of coming up with an appropriate response, he simply remained silent as he pulled into his driveway. He turned the car key, shutting off the vehicle. He sat still, staring down at the phone, listening as Integra huffed breath after breath into her end of the receiver.

            The wind had died down which did nothing to lessen the overbearing feeling of suffocation in his cramped, little car. The birds had gone silent, and the sounds of the road repairs were muted and faraway. It was like he’d been submerged in a lake of boiling water, unable to fully comprehend anything he came across.

            “Is this what you want?” she asked, breaking his stupor.

            Taken aback, he said nothing.

            “All right, fine,” said Integra, “I’ll employ her, but her salary comes out of yours, and she is your problem. Her screw ups are your screw ups, and if she dies, it’s all on you.”

            He looked away from the device, staring out of the window. The sun glinted into his eyes, causing him to shut them. He sat there, basking in warmth he didn’t want, having yet another conversation he didn’t care for. His hand slid over to the door, pressing a button to bring the window back up.

            “Alucard,” she said, her voice filled with concern.

            “What?” he snapped, whipping his head around to glare at the phone, as if Integra were in the seat beside him instead of the small device.

            “Be careful,” she said quietly, and with that, she hung up.

            _What kind of bullshit was that?_ he grumbled as he tugged open the car door. He stood up tiredly, placing his hand on his lower back as he stretched out his spine. He righted himself, and reached back into his car, turning off his phone as he dropped it into a cup holder.

            He shut the door and stepped around the car to the trunk. He yanked it open, the metal scalding his weathered hands. He pulled out the lone grocery bag and slammed the trunk back down, the sound echoing through the dead, dry air.

            He felt very empty, and not in regards to the late meal. He felt hollow, unsure of himself or how to proceed. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore, and though he wouldn’t allow himself to acknowledge it, he was terrified of what this meant for him.

            He exhaled loudly as he climbed up the steps to his small, rundown home, glancing at the dying potted plants along the walkway as he searched his pockets for his keys. As his fingers came across the jagged tip of his house key, he froze, as still as an ancient pillar of stone. He looked back over at the plants, carefully taking note of their condition.

            Out of the five pots, four were broken, and he didn’t remember them being that way when he’d left home that morning.  The cracks were neat and clean, signifying a deliberate attack.

            A frigid hand seemed to trail a finger down Alucard’s spine, forcing all of the small hairs on his extremities to stand erect. He set his jaw as he fit the key into the lock, his brows drawing together in an attempt to fight off the emotions that he felt clouding his judgement.

            As he placed a hand on the doorknob, he braced himself, knowing full well that something had gone horrifically wrong on the other side of the door.

\---

            I was shaking like a leaf caught in a torrential gale. No matter how tense I tried to make my muscles, every ounce of my flesh continued to quiver at a feverish pace. I felt weak, like a bird trying to take flight with a broken wing.

            Sunlight from the peaceful, oblivious world in front of me glinted through the window into my eyes. I blinked, more to keep back any unnecessary tears than to clear my sight.

            I was terrified, and though I was ashamed to admit it, I was more afraid in that moment than when I saw that man put a knife to my father’s throat.

            “Where’s the gun?” growled the man in white.

             I started at the sudden sound of his voice. It was a harsh and grainy sound, the exact opposite of Alucard’s voice. It felt as if nails were being raked across my skin, making everything I had forgotten about my father’s death crawl and claw at my mind, forcing panic threaten to consume me.

            A faint, “What?” slipped from my lips in response to his demand. My heart battered mercilessly against my ribcage. I was horrified to think what my small outburst might bring the intruder to do. I didn’t want to anger him any further, not to mention that I didn’t know what he was referring to. I wondered if he meant Alucard’s gun, but why would he want it? The gun he held was identical to Alucard’s anyway.

            “That bastard’s gun” said the man, his voice as coarse as gravel, “I need it.” 

            I had to force myself stop coming up with questions and instead decide upon a quick answer.

            “I don’t know where it is,” I breathed, my voice barely louder than my own pulse. I hoped if I played ignorant, he’d be willing to force more questions on me. I knew how to turn a conversation on a person from the time I spent interrogating criminals. I knew how to get him to give me more information, but I first needed him to comply.

            “It’s rude to lie to people, you know,” the man muttered.

            I heard footsteps, and my heart began to race.        

Before he could advance any further, I blurted out, “Why do you want the gun?”

The footsteps stopped.

“Because it’ll piss him off more if I kill you with a bullet from his own gun,” he sneered.

I jumped as I heard him begin to come towards me again, my legs threatening to give way at any second.

I blinked, biting my lip, feeling lightheaded as my heart began to slow its hellish gallop.

My muscles began to recall the countless hours I spent training with my father, practicing martial arts, performing yoga and strength exercises.

“It’s all over now,” the man whispered, sending my insides into a panic as I felt his breath against my ear, the odor sickly sweet, bordering on rancid.

            I didn’t think, I didn’t breathe, and I didn’t have any control.

I just moved.

            The man had come up behind me, preparing to knock me out with a hit to the head with the base of his gun. I felt my legs bend and take a single step, moving myself just out of his reach. My body twisted, my torso maneuvering me so that my arms could easily grapple him. I grabbed onto one of his arms with my right hand, using my free arm to jab into his taut elbow. The joint buckled, and the gun fell against the floor with a dull clatter.

            I kicked the weapon to the other side of the room before he could react, throwing my arms around his neck in a vice hold. My leg swept behind his as my knee made contact with his hamstring, forcing his leg to fold. He hit the floor, hard, and I didn’t let up on my grip even after Alucard burst into the room.

            Alucard was shouting something I couldn’t understand. The blood rushing through my skull was far too loud for me to even attempt to discern any of his dialogue. My vision was clouded at the edges, my chest heaving with every breath.

He rushed to me, wrenching my arms off from around the man’s neck. The amount of force he used was great enough to half toss me to the far side of the room, my back connecting with the corner of the TV stand. Empty picture frames and glass wear toppled off the stand like heavy icicles in the winter, shattering silently against the floor. I sat, semi-paralyzed in pain, watching as Alucard morphed from man to monster in front of my eyes.

            He roared louder than any jungle cat I’d heard on TV or at the zoo. He then resumed the position I had held on the man. He straddled the intruder, and began throwing violent punch after violent punch straight at the man’s head. Blood began to splatter from the man’s face as Alucard’s skilled fists connected with his flesh.

He wore the same black shirt from yesterday, the onyx fabric stretching tight against his thrashing limbs. Streaks of red managed to show up against the dark material, making it appear as if Alucard was wearing a piece of abstract modern art.

I didn’t question his intentions in that moment. I only observed in awe.

            Alucard took hold of the man’s head and repeatedly, jarringly, pounded it against the ground. It made heavy, wet sounds with every impact against the wooden floor. The boards of the room creaked, and the paper of my lungs crackled as I continued to stare ahead, watching rivulets of red leak into the cracks between the floorboards.

            I could see Alucard’s face ripped into a nasty snarl, his hair whipping around his face as he continued his deadly onslaught. His lips moved, but the ringing in my ears had grown too loud for me to hear anything over the sound.

            My lips were dry and cracked, my head buzzing with a strange feeling of disorientation. I felt dizzy and thin, like the slightest breeze would tear a hole straight through my body.

            So I didn’t notice when the man in white had managed to regain control of the fight. I didn’t see it when he flipped Alucard over and began to shower him in a barrage of savage fist falls. I didn’t acknowledge it when the man clubbed Alucard in the head with his hands, knocking him flat to the floor. I tried to ignore the trickle of blood that seeped out from where Alucard’s black hair met with the dark chestnut flooring.

            The only thing I did notice was when the man, bleeding, bent and considerably more broken, smashed the glass of the right window using his retrieved gun, and leapt through the opening.

            Time stood still. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. I just sat and stared at Alucard as he slowly forced himself off of the floor, his bloodied hair painting crimson ribbons along the wooden boards. He got to his feet much less shakily than I’d expected, lumbering over to the window while he wiped his face with his shirtsleeve.

            He peered out, running his fingertips over the edge of the broken glass, as if he couldn’t fully comprehend what had happened. What felt like hours later, Alucard to come to terms with the events that had just occurred, and stepped back from the window.

            My gaze travelled down his form and to the place where his feet met the ground. I watched as they grew larger as he approached me.

            He crouched down in front of me, his face impassive, as blank as crystalline ice. His face was shiny with sweat, his hair matted to his forehead with blood. He looked horrific, like he could’ve been the criminal in the situation, but even so, I didn’t feel afraid.

            I was lost in thought, so I didn’t notice when Alucard placed his hands on my shoulders, and began shaking me lightly. I heard his voice calling my name, but the sound was thick and slow, as if I were hearing it underwater.

            “Kid,” he said, his tone lifeless.

            I forced my eyes to meet his.

            He took that as his cue to help me stand up. After righting my position, Alucard grabbed my hand, not saying a word to me. He led me out of the bloodstained TV room, through the French doors, past the long hallway, and to the front door where he slipped on his shoes. I felt obliged to the same.

            He folded his fingers around mine, tugging me out of his home, onto the porch, and into his car.

            Alucard started up the car and headed straight, plowing through the city. The sun was missing from the sky, but the air was still humid and sticky. Ashen and inky clouds replaced the blue clarity of the spring sky, the birds taking their songs to a place where the light of day still shone.

            As time went on, I could only stare out the window and wonder where Alucard was taking me.

It had all happened so fast.

            I didn’t have any time to fully understand what was happening. I just knew that when Alucard pulled up beside my old apartment that something had gone terribly wrong.

            We sat in the heated interior of his car, the quietness thicker than the muggy air. The clouds dusted the sky with salt and pepper hues, casting grey and black shadows over the landscape. I was shaking again, but not from the chills that ran over my flesh.

            “Get out,” said Alucard. His voice was empty, barren of any emotion.

            Gone was the remorse and regret he held, gone was the willingness to move on. He no longer cared. He had changed, yet again, and I felt that this time the change would be irreversible.

            “You’ll find a suitcase with your things in it outside the door tomorrow,” he stated absently.

I was too shocked to even question him verbally. My eyes were staring straight ahead, widening as I came to realize his demand.

            “Get out,” he repeated, his voice strung with thousands of threads of suppressed anger.

            My heart fell to my feet, cracking and splintering somewhere far beneath my skin. My chest became a hollow cavity of blood and tissue, devoid of anything that I previously cared about.

            I felt nothing, I wanted nothing, and I knew nothing.

            I let my arms move and grip the door handle. I let myself out of his car, not looking back as I shut the door.

            I walked around the car, not once glancing back at the vehicle I wanted to pretend I’d never seen before.

            My legs carried me up the steps to my apartment, and I reached into the small, metal mailbox for the spare key.

            Against my will, I pivoted on my heel, trying to see if this was what I was supposed to be doing.

            When I turned back, the car was gone, the clouds were gone, and so was he.

            It was like it had never happened.

 

**_Alucard_ **

            He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle her. He’d known it from the beginning.

            He felt foolish, like a goddamn idiot, for allowing himself to get attached to something he’d known could get ripped away in an instant.

            _Fuck this_ , he thought as he drove though the barren roadways to his home. It seemed as if all the other drivers had cleared out the roads, allowing him some peace in that sense.

            _I’m gonna have to clean that shit up before it stains_ , he thought as he remembered the crime scene he was going home to.

            He knew exactly why he’d thrown her out, but he just didn’t want to deal with it. If he came to terms with that, he’d have to admit that there was a reason he’d found her at the police station that day, one that didn’t have to do with him doing his job.

            He didn’t know what he should’ve done. He didn’t know if what he just did was as justified as he’d assumed it was. He needed to keep her safe, but wouldn’t she be in more danger without him?

            _Bullshit,_ he heard himself scold _, you fucked up her life. She’s better off alone._

            That’s what he told himself as he forced his mind to guide him back to his house and not turn the car around. He repeatedly told himself that she would die if he kept her around. She needed to move on, and she wouldn’t be able to with him there.

            _She’ll go insane on her own_ , he heard himself reason.

            He knew that both parts of him were equally right. He knew that he’d have to make a decision eventually, but he didn’t expect the circumstances to be the way they were when the time came.

            He’d made his decision, and as he pulled into his driveway for the second time that day, he prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that he’d made the right choice.

           

 


	10. Chapter 10: Echoes

Chapter 10: Echoes

**_Alucard_ **

            _Seras… Victoria… Victoria…_

            The police girl’s name was drifting around in his mind like a leaf in a spring breeze. He stared up at the ceiling, as if it might tell him why the hell her name was in his head in the first place.

            He’d passed out somewhere between noon and two p.m., having given up on trying to bring himself to do what he’d planned to. When he’d woken up, those two words, the name of the person, the anomaly, that had thrown his life off-balance, was echoing in his head like the last words of a loved one.

            His head was thrown back over the top of the sofa, his legs spread and his arms flopping at his sides. He felt like a ragdoll, lifeless and drained. He was too drunk to do anything productive anyway, he told himself, trying to justify not returning any of his boss’s phone calls.

            Integra had been constantly calling him both his home and personal number, each call going straight to voicemail. She’d probably get pissed enough to come down to his house and drag his ass back to the office, but it’s not like he’d do anything different once he was there.

            _Bang, bang, bang!_

The sound of fists battering against his front door came from somewhere behind him.

            He didn’t even blink in response.

            “Alucard, open the door,” Integra’s voice called, muffled through the layers of wood and brick between them. “Alucard!”

            He sniffed sharply, feeling the beginnings of a sneeze tickling the inside of his nose, but didn’t make any other indications that he was alive.

            “Open the goddamn door or I’ll break it down,” she threatened, banging on the door again.

            “Bray it an yoo pay foh it,” he mumbled back half-heartedly. His words, though clear in his mind, came out slurred from all the time he’d spent with his good friend red wine in the past twelve hours.

            _Victoria… Seras Victoria…_

            “I found your spare key,” Integra told him, “I’m coming in.”

            He groaned, rolling onto his side, falling onto the sofa. It was too short for his large stature, so his calves hung off the edge, the sofa only supporting him from the knees up. “Noooo,” he tried to protest, his voice getting lost in the springy sofa cushion.

            He heard Integra unlock the door and slam it shut behind her. Her felt her heavy footfalls vibrating through the floorboards. He absently made a note to tell her that she walked like an ape the next time he was physically able to.

            He felt a pang of regret working its way from the centre of his chest outwards. With how easily Integra Anderson had been able to get into his house, let alone find out where he lived, he was yet again reminded of how dangerous a place his home was for that police girl. He wondered why he’d thought it was a good idea in the first place. He wondered how much it would cost him to either change the locks or move houses.

            “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Alucard,” he heard her say. Everything sounded like he was underwater. He started to question whether or not he was still in his living room after all, or if maybe Integra had thrown him into Lake Ontario and he just hadn’t realized it yet.

            “Get up,” his boss demanded tonelessly. She clearly didn’t want to waste any time, but he didn’t care about what she wanted. She didn’t matter right now. What mattered to him was why the room was spinning so damn much.

            When he didn’t so much as twitch in response to her voice, Integra exhaled sharply through her nose. He heard her approach, and felt something feebly latching onto his arm.

            “Get up willingly or I’m dragging you upstairs,” she told him firmly, as she tugged on his bicep. “You smell like a brewery. You need a shower.”

            He grunted, annoyed, into the sofa cushion, feebly trying to swat her away.

            “No shower? Okay,” she said, calmly, “Time for work then,” she told him, her voice straining as she used her entire bodyweight to heave him off of the sofa. “You’ve spent enough time sulking at home. You need to get out of here.”

            Integra succeeded in her efforts, draping his heavy arm around her shoulders, supporting his wine-soaked body with her own.

            He looked at her, his eyes half lidded. His brows were drawn together in a tight line of confusion, his eyes not quite focused on her.

            “Did yoo always look dis uglee?” he slurred, tilting his head quizzically. He genuinely didn’t believe the person half-carrying, half-dragging him through his house was Integra. Integra’s face was more… symmetrical.

            “Uh huh, real funny,” she said, unamused, as she dropped him into the passenger seat of her car. She got behind the wheel and buckled him in before taking off towards their office building.

            He shut his eyes as the world sped by him, trying to settle his ever-churning stomach.

            _Seras… Victoria…_

\---

            The shrill beeping of my phone alarm filled the kitchen, startling me. I jumped, pushing my chair back away from the table, away from the dystopian landscape of paperwork that now adorned the kitchen table.

            I quickly crossed the kitchen and shut off the alarm, my heart beating a thousand times per second. I’d completely forgotten about the alarm, even though it went off every day at the same time, reminding me to eat since I had a habit of forgetting to do so.

            I pocketed my phone as I cracked open the fridge, grabbing a small bottle of orange juice. I opened the lid and took a large sip, taking it with me to the table.

            I sat back down at the table, fiddling with the bottle’s cap as I tried to process everything I’d read in the past few hours.

            The contents of the files had been pages and pages of notes, print-out documents, and report sheets, all marked with the crest of the Hellsing Organization, all with my father’s name watermarked onto the sheets. The paperwork hadn’t been borrowed or acquired through asking the government for permission to use them. They were my father’s. He’d written, edited and compiled all of the information in the files himself, and based on the way it was presented, the only way that such a thing could have been possible was if my father was, at some point, and employee of Hellsing.

            The pages were dated before I was born, before I think my dad even knew my mom. He’d mentioned before that he hadn’t always been a policeman, but never told me what he’d done before. I don’t know why I never considered Hellsing as a possibility.

I chewed on the plastic rim of the juice bottle, wondering what had driven him to leave Hellsing, or if he’d been fired or forced to quit. Hellsing obviously would have paid better and had better benefits, but for some reason, he left, and it didn’t make sense. There was no doubt that the work my dad did for the police was exciting and rewarding, but there’s only so much he could do for the city as a police officer. Working for Hellsing, the government, he would have had access to much more information and more complex cases, which I know he would’ve loved. So why did he leave it all behind?

            Aside from where the papers were from, their contents surprised me as well.

            My dad had been investigating the Iscariot gang and whatever business they’d been running in the city. Specifically, he’d been looking into the leader of the gang, a man only referred to by my dad as Anderson, as well as Anderson’s second in command, whose name he’d been unable to identify. Apparently, Anderson’s underling had fled the Iscariot and went rogue. My dad had thought this was strange, and wanted to learn more about it, but couldn’t get any information out of any former or current Iscariot members.

            I set the cap for the juice bottle down on the table, next to the bottle itself in one of the few paper-free spots on the table.     

            I’d looked up to my father my entire life. Without my mom around, I only had him to rely on, and I thought he felt the same with me. We were the only family we had. We shared a very close, open relationship, and we didn’t keep things from each other. I never felt like I needed to hide anything from him, but he clearly felt that his past was too much for me to handle. Judging from the way my stomach turned just before reading all of the documents, I’d say he was right.

            I understood that he likely wanted to protect me by keeping all of it from me, maybe even prevent me from working at Hellsing for whatever reason had caused him to leave, but I still felt slightly betrayed. There wasn’t anything in there that wasn’t all that jarring. None of the information made me feel anything, except for learning their origins. It wasn’t the act of hiding this portion of his life from me that made me feel dejected. It was the fact that he clearly didn’t trust me enough to tell me, and that hurt.

            I chewed on the inside of my cheek, slouching into the chair, wishing I could just ask my dad why he didn’t tell me about his time at Hellsing.

            Thinking about it, I wondered what other secrets my father might have been hiding. Maybe he’d locked them away somewhere I wouldn’t be able to access, or maybe he’d just taken them with him to the grave. Either way, there was a whole part of my father that I didn’t know about. It was a connection to the Iscariot, to Hellsing, to why our squad had been at that crime scene in the first place. It wasn’t much, but it was a start to figuring out why everything had turned out the way it did. With my dad no longer around to answer the questions he’d scribbled onto the papers of the files in front of me, I think I owed it to him to find the truth on my own.

\---

**_Alucard_ **

            The lights above him buzzed like a faraway swarm of locusts, their yellowish glow making the back of his throat dry with nausea. His office was hot, or maybe he was just overheating. He couldn’t tell. His palms were sticky with stale sweat, the pits of his pale grey button down were stained a slightly darker shade.

            He sat at his desk, hunched over the keyboard of his desktop computer. He held his head in his hands, propped up by his elbows. He was supposed to be working, or coming out of his drunken stupor, or something. His boss hadn’t been all that clear, and so he just sat there, wondering how the lights could be so noisy.

            His inhaled sharply as he lifted his head up, dropping his hands onto his desk. He stared at his computer monitor, at the homepage of the Hellsing Organization’s private database. He watched the little typing icon blink in and out of existence in the empty search bar. He was backed up on cases and should’ve been looking into something he’d neglected for weeks now. Instead, he just gazed at the screen.

            He blinked. He had an idea.

            He clicked on the tab marked ‘Employee Records,’ and was greeted by a list of alphabetically organized names and ID numbers, along with a different search bar.

He brought his fingers to the keys, hesitant to type. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to find anything on what he was looking for, but he was going to try anyway. He’d rather know and be displeased than never know and be constantly wondering.

After absently drumming his fingers against the keys for a minute or so, he eventually began entering ‘VICTORIA’ into the last name search.

One record came up, for a Mr. Andrew Victoria.

 _I knew her name sounded familiar_ , he recalled.

When he’d first been hired by Integra, some guy named Victoria was in charge of all of the Iscariot-related cases that he was currently investigating. He remembered Integra saying something about him having to leave for personal reasons, but didn’t care enough about the guy to ask anything more at the time. Why would he? He only had a job because Victoria’s leaving conveniently opened up a spot for him.

He clicked on the name, and was given pages and pages of information on the man’s personal life, as well as scanned copies of all case files and notes he’d made while working at Hellsing.

Sighing at the sheer amount of information, he began to read through the documents, going through the personal ones before the professional ones.

_Name: Andrew Victoria_

_Relatives: Margaret Victoria (spouse, deceased), Seras Victoria (child)._

_Status: Former employee; deceased._

He skimmed all of the basic information until he arrived at a section labelled “Dismissal Remarks.” He read it over carefully, looking for anything that stood out.

He learned that Andrew Victoria worked at Hellsing twenty years ago. He handed in his resignation after learning that his wife was pregnant and didn’t want to be involved in Hellsing’s business with a child coming into the picture. Victoria moved on to policing to continue his work in the justice system, and have more time for his family.

He scrolled down for more information.

_Victoria’s wife was murdered by an unknown perpetrator approximately four years after his departure from this organization. He claimed the attacker was a member of the Iscariot gang, but refused to elaborate on his allegation any further. He attempted to breach Hellsing’s private servers for information on the gang that was company property, ultimately failing. He continues to intervene in private investigations into Iscariot activity, despite warnings of arrest for violating his departure contract. Victoria is to be closely monitored to prevent the jeopardizing of any further company interventions related to the Iscariot gang._

Just below that passage was a small, handwritten note.

_Update: Victoria was killed while investigating a homicide case marked by this organization as off-limits to all police personnel._

            _First her mom, then her dad,_ he thought to himself, scratching at the stubble that was growing along his jawline. He reminded himself that he needed to shave.

            Leaning back into his chair, he began to process what he’d learned.

            _I guess I am going to have to make that phone call,_ he resigned. _But I’m going to go home and shower first,_ he decided after catching a whiff of his own odor.

\---

            A high-pitched ringing wrenched me out of whatever dream-land I’d fallen into in the past few hours.

            I threw my head back, my arms flailing as I tried to determine where the ringing was coming from. I groaned aloud, annoyed at myself for falling asleep at the table for the second time that day. I was in desperate need of real sleep.

            _The phone!_ I realized, my mind still foggy.

In a rush to get to the receiver, my forearm side-swiped the uncapped juice bottle I’d left on the table, knocking it over. The bottle clattered as it emptied what remained of its contents onto the kitchen floor.

            “Crap, crap, crap,” I repeated through gritted teeth as I hurried to the landline cradle, only to find it empty.

            I sprinted to my room to retrieve it from the floor by my bed, where I’d left it that morning. Grabbing the still ringing device, I hurried back to the kitchen, pulling sheets of paper towel off of the roll on the countertop.

            I dropped to my knees and began to soak up the spilled juice as I answered the call.

            “Hello?” My voice came out strangled by my attempts at holding it properly while also cleaning up the mess.

            “Uh, hi,” came the reply.

            I dropped onto my bottom, sitting cross-legged across from what remained of the spill. My legs flopped out in front of me, landing in the puddle of orange juice. My jeans began to soak up the juice, but I didn’t notice.

I felt my mind go blank and my mouth go dry. Silence followed as I fought back tears, my hands shaking as the sound of heartbeat filled my ears. I immediately felt angry with myself for becoming so affected by a phone call. I hated myself for the way I felt.

            I felt anger starting to surface behind my tears, causing my fingers to tremble more violently.

He threw me out like I was nothing but garbage to him, like I was an inconvenience, and worst of all, I agreed with him. My father wasn’t supposed to be at that house so many nights ago. I wasn’t supposed to be there, I wasn’t supposed to lose anything. None of this was supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to be a part of his life, so of course I was a burden. I meant nothing to him before all of this, and I meant nothing now. He had no reason to be calling. He’d made it clear that didn’t want anything to do with me, and yet there he was, on the other end of the phone.

            “Kid?” Alucard prompted, “You there?”

            I blinked a few times, my lips unsticking from one another. I cleared my throat to prevent my voice from cracking as a few hot tears slid down my cheeks. “Yeah, hi, I –”

            “We need to talk,” he interrupted, “It’s important.”

            I switched the phone to my other hand as I began to absently work on the spill again, trying not to focus on what either of us were really saying. “Okay…”

            “I’m coming over,” he stated, “I’ll be there in an hour.”

            “Wait!” I started, dropping the mostly-soaked blob of paper towels I was holding onto the floor, but it was too late.

            The dial tone buzzed into my ear, mimicking my shallow breaths.

            I sat in the remains of my mess, my eyes and my throat burning with confusion and frustration, my legs cold and wet.

            I didn’t know what was happening, or why it was happening all of a sudden. Everything had been so out of control, moving too quickly for me to properly get a hold of.

            Sitting where I was, I watched the orange juice seeping into the paper towels and the fabric of my jeans. I was unmoving, still for the first time in ages. The sounds of the world were silenced by my thoughts, placing me in a quiet, motionless bubble. I was far from at peace, but I was not panicking either. I just… was.

I didn’t know how long this nothingness would last, so I sat there, enveloped by it so that perhaps it wouldn’t end. Perhaps this strange, empty peacefulness wouldn’t fade into the chaos that had taken over my life.

 


	11. Chapter 11: Echoes

Chapter 11: Rhythms

            I changed into a new pair of jeans and a clean shirt, one that didn’t smell like I’d worn it for three days.

            I paced the short hallway between my dad’s room and my own, one hand on my hip while I chewed on the fingertips of the other. I couldn’t hear my breathing over my heavy footfalls and thundering heart. I moved through muscle memory, my eyes not seeing where the hallway began and ended.

            He was coming over to talk, that was it. I was in my own home, surrounded by the things that should be giving me strength, but I felt dizzy. My legs felt foreign, like I the body I inhabited was not my own. Scenario after scenario sped through my mind, too fast for me to remember what the previous one was before another took its place. Every possible wrong thing I could say, every way he could just waltz into my home and rip apart what few things in my life were still intact. I thought about it all, and it made me sick. In the end, I didn’t know how anything would play out. I never did. No amount of foresight could confirm if anything I was doing what right. I would never know until something, something good or bad or downright painful happened.

            I dropped my fingers from my lips, my mouth forming a slight, downturned line, my pace slowing.

            The doorbell chimed, followed by quick, pounding raps at the door.

            I jumped, taking a sharp breath in through my nose. Not looking up from the floor, I padded over to the door and unlocked it.

            Donning a long, black woolen coat, Alucard looked like the grim reaper. The gold lenses of his round glasses bounced the sunlight into my eyes, making me squint up at him. I’d forgotten how tall he was. It’d only been a day since he kicked me out, but it was like seeing him for the first time all over again.

            I didn’t look at him for more than a few seconds. I didn’t say a word as I backed away from the door, inviting him inside. My heart was beating so fast it made my fingertips tingle.

            He followed through the doorway, his coat swishing around his calves. I left the foyer, heading to the kitchen. I heard the dull click of him locking the door behind him, and the scraping of wood on tile as he pulled a chair out at the table.

            I placed my palms against the edge of the countertop, leaning all my weight onto my hands. I looked into the stainless steel sink, staring at the muddled colours of my reflection in the warped metal. I took a deep breath in and out, gathering myself before turning around to face him.

            His glasses were on the table, his fingers drumming on the tabletop. I leaned against the counter, my arms still at my sides. It took me some time, but I eventually forced myself to approach the table and take the seat opposite to his.

            The clock on the wall spoke for us, filling the space created by our lack of words with its soft ticking. It reminded me of how slowly the moment was passing, of how long it was lasting. With the clock rhythmically ticking on in the background, I realized that the only way to end this moment would be to make it begin.

            “So…” I started, focusing on the wood grain of the table. “What—”

            Alucard didn’t waste any more time. “It’s about your dad.”

            Inside, something sharp shot through my body. I felt it tingle down my spine, causing me to scrunch up my toes. I didn’t move a muscle otherwise. My face remained still, though my eyes glossed over as my heartbeat grew louder than the ticking of the clock.

            I didn’t know what to expect by him coming over, but I knew I wasn’t expecting any news relating to my dad. What business could Alucard have with him?

            _Hellsing._

I reminded myself of what I’d found out not too long ago. Alucard must have discovered the same connection on his own. I wondered, though, why he was looking into my father in the first place. Was it because of my father’s connection to Anderson? Alucard might’ve believed that the reason Anderson showed up at his place was to go after me, to finish me off as the last of my father’s living relatives. It would make sense. It would explain why he kicked me out. But, Anderson hadn’t just gone after me and my father. He’d gotten my entire squad, which made me a loose end for two different groups.

            With all of those thoughts consuming my energy, I didn’t say anything in response to his statement, at least not out loud. I did respond; I just didn’t want him to hear it just yet.

            “He worked for Hellsing,” Alucard tried after another moment or so of silence.

            “I know,” I voiced, the sound of my words soft, like if I was too loud, he’d hear more than what I’d chosen to say.

            Alucard shifted in his seat, the chair creaking with his movement. “You—what?”

            I got out of my chair, my eyes never making it to his face. I felt myself walk to my room, grab one of my father’s files, and return to the kitchen. I dropped it onto the table as I dropped back into my chair.

            When he didn’t immediately reach for the file, I briefly glanced up at him.

            He was looking at me. His face was calm, relaxed even, with none of his stress-induced lines visible. He extended a hand over the file, raising his brows in question.

            I nodded, and he picked it up, leafing through its contents.

            A few minutes passed of him reading and re-reading some of the file’s documents. “Where did you get this?” He inquired, still focused on one of the file’s pages.

            “Under his bed,” I replied, focusing my gaze onto his hands, loosely holding onto the file.

            He made a quiet grunt in response, turning the page. “Were there more?”

            “A bunch.”

            He didn’t grunt this time.

            Another few minutes of reading elapsed, the room now filled with the sound of paper shuffling along with the clock’s unending song.

            “So how much do you know?” he asked, placing the file back into the table. As his hands fell away from view, I found myself looking into his eyes.

            There was a lot I knew, and so I told him. The words spilled out like water over the brim of an over-filled glass. I told him about the contents of the other files, about what my dad had discovered on the Iscariot and on Anderson.

            When I finished, Alucard looked away. His fingers once again drummed against the table, though his pace was more fastidious, more erratic.

            “There’s more,” he revealed, turning his head away from me.

            I stared at him, my eyes going wide. My lips, previously fused together in an attempt to keep myself together, unstuck from each other. I learned forward, my fingers gripping the edge of the table. “What?”

            His eyes darted between mine and a point off to his right. “I looked up your name in Hellsing’s database and I found his employee record.” He paused, pulling his lower lips between his teeth. “There’s more than what you know in there.”

            “So tell me,” I breathed.

            He shook his head, still gnawing on his lip. “I can’t.” His head dipped down, his hair obscuring his eyes. “It’s not my place.”

            I felt my body falling back into the chair. I blinked, processing his words.

            I suspected there was more my father had been keeping from me, but now that I was so close to learning what it was, I felt like I didn’t want to know anymore. I wanted my ignorance, my perfect image of the man who raised me.

            “Then whose place is it?” I asked, my voice softer that I would’ve liked it to be, “My fathers?” My tone was as biting as the sensation I felt at the back of my throat.

            I didn’t mean to snap at him, at least not then. I didn’t want to make him angry. While I did want to preserve the memory I had of the man my father was, I was also just so tired of all the secrets and lies. I wanted the truth, answers, and now Alucard was here with what I wanted. He was dangling it all in front of me, yet refusing to let me touch it.

            Alucard’s fingers slowed, his drumming eventually coming to a stop. Neither of us said anything for a few moments.

            “What about your mother?” I heard him ask.

            I cocked my head in confusion. I hadn’t been expecting him to ask about my mother. “What about her?”

            “How did she die?”

            Something else inside me cracked, my face falling as I made sense of his question. “What?”

            “How did she die?” He repeated.

            I bit my lip as my body rolled forward in my chair, the palm of my hand catching my forehead as I leaned on the tabletop. How could he ask something like that, especially right now of all times? What did my mom have to do with anything? Why remind me of the two people who, out of everyone I’d lost, I wanted back the most?

            “I-I don’t know, my dad never told me,” I stuttered, my voice muffled by the tightness in my throat and the fingers holding my face up.

            “You’re sure? You don’t know anything?”

            I shook my head, closing my eyes as wave after wave of confusion and loss fell over me. “No, no…” Why was he doing this to me? Was it payback? For what? What did I do?

             I heard him shift in the chair. “He never said anything at all?”

            I wheezed as a frustrated cry escaped lips. Why wouldn’t he just let it go? “No! I mean he said something about an accident once—”

            “An accident,” Alucard repeated.

            My face was hot and sticky beneath my clammy palm. My tears mixed with my sweat. I wanted to melt away into the moisture, to dissolve into something that wouldn’t feel anything at all. I was tired of feeling.

            “Seras—”

            “What?” I snapped. “I don’t know how she died! He never really talked about her, okay?”

            He exhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw as he looked somewhere off to his left.

            The clock’s song continued, unchanging through this new silence.

            “Listen,” Alucard started, after a few moments of nothingness. “I want to tell you everything I know, but this shit isn’t something that I can just spit out, and judging by how you’re acting, you can’t handle it right now anyway.”

            “I can’t handle it?” I countered as I coughed up a tired laugh, “In the past few days I’ve _handled_ so much, I think I can take whatever it is you don’t want to tell me.”

            “Kid—”

            “Stop calling me that, I’m not a child,” I interjected, dropping my hand from my face. I faced him as I leaned back into my chair.

I saw him set his jaw. “Then stop acting like one.”

With that he got up, picking up his glasses as he rose.

“So that’s it?” I demanded, “You’re just going to walk in here, give me absolutely nothing useful, and then leave? That’s it?”

He turned around, placing his hands on the back of the chair. “I’m done trying to convince you that I’m not the bad guy here. I’ve been trying to do my job and keep you safe, but you don’t seem to want that.”

“Keep me safe,” I repeated, “Like how safe I was when Anderson broke into your house?”

His head dipped down, his hair briefly obscuring his face before he ran one of his hands through it, pulling I back. He didn’t say anything. I spoke instead.

“I don’t want you to protect me,” I told him. “All my father ever did was protect people, and look where that led him. Let me take care of myself.”

“And you think I wanted to _protect_ you? That I want to babysit a bratty excuse for a police officer?” Alucard countered. “I didn’t ask for this, but this is my problem now, and I don’t have a choice in what happens from here anymore.”

I brought my eyes to his, blinking in slight shock.

“I’m going to do what I was planning to do, before Anderson, before you were this much of a mess to deal with,” he continued, though he took a step back, towards the front door, while gesturing vaguely in my direction. “Not that you were much better before,” he muttered before raising his voice. “I’m going to train you to fit in at Hellsing so you can find what you want, on your own.”

I focused on the file in front of me, trying to slow my thoughts, trying to ignore the trickle of rage seeping into my gut. My words were spilling out faster than my brain was able to process them. “What if Anderson comes back?”

“Anderson’s not your problem,” he told me, “He’s another one of mine, so don’t even think about him.”  

“Okay,” I heard myself whisper, after some time. “Okay.”

Alucard exhaled sharply. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Bring your stuff. ”

And then he was gone, and I was alone again, though I knew it wasn’t going to last.

My body and mind felt completely isolated from one another. The choices I’d made just now, the words my lips had chosen to speak didn’t feel like my own, but I didn’t regret them. I felt hollow, like I was shrinking within myself, retreating farther and farther away from this reality, from any fears or doubts that I was looking for.

He was upset, and I didn’t blame him. Like I didn’t ask for him to be there the night my father died, he didn’t ask for us to be there. None of this was supposed to happen, and as a result, we both suffered.

I crossed my arms, suddenly becoming very aware of the chair I was sitting on. He didn’t have to be such an asshole with the way he said things, though, angry or not.

I exhaled, dropping my arms and shaking them by my sides, like it would dislodge all of the uncertainty from my body.

I wasn’t entirely certain of what I’d agreed to, but whatever is going to happen will happen, and I guess I’ll just have to deal with the fallout as it comes.

\---

**_Alucard_ **

            Driving home, he didn’t pay much attention to anything. Drivers honked their horns at him, he took a wrong turn, and he had the radio on to some trashy pop station that he didn’t know existed. He didn’t notice any of it. He was elsewhere, his mind never lingering on one thought for more than a few seconds.

            He made it to his home eventually, dropping himself back into the couch Integra had dragged him off of not too long ago.

            The police girl’s words had been cycling through his head since he left her place. She’d been as whiney as ever, as immature as he’d expected. He’d been prepared for every possible kind of bullshit she could spring on him.

_Keep me safe? Like how safe I was when Anderson broke into your house?_

His dragged the fingers of both of his hands through his hair. That particular statement had caught him off-guard.

He figured she’d be pissed about him showing up so soon after kicking her out. He would’ve been just as pissed if someone pulled that shit on him. He knew the questioning about her mom was something he probably could’ve stayed away from, but he was hoping that if she did know something, anything that was similar to what he’d seen in her father’s file, he could have told her everything she wanted right then and there. He didn’t want to spring a whole load of new information on her, not when she didn’t trust him at all.

And why would she? Why would she trust a deadbeat who could only fail to do what he said he would, over and over again?

She was right. How could he keep her safe this time when he clearly couldn’t before? Nothing had changed, except that she had even less faith in him and what he was trying to accomplish than before.

He admitted he was harsh on her, but he was sick and tired of babysitting instead of preparing a potential employee. None of this was part of his job description, but he was doing it anyway. Why? Because it was the only way he could think of to clean up the remains of the mess he made in their lives.

He exhaled as he lounged back into the couch.

He, more than anything, just wanted it all to stop. He wanted peace.

Not just for the police girl, but for him as well. Anderson was a loose end in both her life and his. The sooner Anderson was put away, the sooner he would be out of the police girl’s life, and he had a feeling that at least for her, it couldn’t come soon enough.


	12. Chapter 9: Deep Breath

Chapter 9: Deep Breath

I woke up on the floor in front of my bed, my old landline receiver digging into my hip where I'd pressed it into my side. As I forced myself into a sitting position, I tried to piece together how I'd gotten on the floor in the first place.

I remembered yesterday. I wished I didn't, but it had happened, and there was no denying it.

I remembered shutting the door after being brought back to my apartment. I remembered leaning against its solid wood as I slowly slid to the ground. In that moment, as I sat with my back pressed to my door, I realized that I was completely and utterly alone. The grey and grim light from the outside streamed through the places where the curtains wouldn't touch, as if showing me that the rest of the world felt as I did. My apartment was dark and colourless, as I'd disappeared into an old black-and-white film.

I didn't cry. I couldn't. What difference would it have made if I had? Nobody would notice, and I doubted it would lessen my feelings of absolute abandonment.

I couldn't bring myself to move, so I allowed myself to remain where I was, staring into my empty kitchen, the pale yellow color scheme making me feel sickly. Everything felt too overwhelming: the cozy, homey feeling of being back at my apartment, the loss of human contact, the smells and sights of things I hadn't seen in what seemed like years.

After sitting in place for some time into the evening, I realized that I would be unable to physically function if I did not eat anything, so I forced myself to my feet and shakily went to the kitchen, my socked feet dragging against the wooden, and then tiled, floors. I picked up my landline with one hand and absently headed to my bedroom.

I shut the door behind me, plunging myself into pitch blackness. I began to dial the number for the nearest pizza place as I lowered myself to the floor, my back leaning against the foot-board of my bed. I couldn't see anything, save for the small illuminated digits on the phone.

The phone rang a few times, but I froze just as someone picked up the line, unable to find the will to speak.

"Hello?" called the voice on the other end of the line.

I felt myself speaking, but what I said is lost to me.

I dropped the phone once the pizza place hung up. I sat there, staring into the darkness in front of me until I heard my doorbell ring.

One pizza and a few glasses of water later, I returned to my room, and lay down where I was sitting before. I ignored the fact that I was lying on top of the phone. I felt it jabbing into me as I fell asleep.

In the present, the world had shifted from greyscale to sepia. Amber light leeched through the blinds and under my bedroom door, as if trying to convince me that everything was fine, that nothing had changed.

I leaned against the foot-board of my bed, raising one knee and draping an arm over top of it. I tilted my head up, staring at the shadows that loomed over me, concealing my ceiling.

I thought about what my dad would've been doing right at this very moment.

A quick glance at the phone's screen told me it was just after nine in the morning.

Memories floated to the surface of my mind like dandelion seeds, clinging to the back of a breeze.

My dad was an early riser because he liked making breakfast. He liked experimenting with different oils and spices, and used a terrible French accent whenever I asked him any questions about his dishes.

I felt my eyes prickle at the edges, my vision of the golden nothingness above me going out of focus. I blinked rapidly, averting my eyes to my bedroom door instead.

At this moment, my dad would've whipped up a batch of scrambled eggs with bacon while singing along to whatever song was playing on the radio, whether or not he knew the lyrics.

I chuckled at the thought of him in the white, pink-trimmed apron my mom used to wear, the tears I'd been trying to blink away streaking my face in thin, chilly lines.

I don't remember when I got up, but at some point, I did. I found myself standing in the kitchen, in front of the shelf where I last saw Jack alive. The shelf was almost completely bare now. All of the photographs that had filled it were packed into the suitcase I'd taken with me to Alucard's house.

He did leave it outside, like he said he would, but I couldn't bring myself to unpack it. I thought that if I kept everything locked inside that suitcase, then maybe it wouldn't be so real. It would be locked away from me, impossible for me to access or be hurt by, and yet there I was, alone, crying like the weak woman I was pretending not to be.

Eventually I wandered over towards my father's bedroom. I hovered outside the door, leaning so close to the white-painted wood that I could hear my breath reverberating off of it. I hesitated to enter, listening to my breathing as if by some miracle I'd hear my dad shuffling about inside.

I waited, the sweat-slick pads of my fingertips brushing against the cool, brass knob.

I was apprehensive about entering his room. I wasn't sure if I was ready to be confronted by the signs of who he was, to be forced to remember the man that made me into who I was without him being there.

My heart was beating so fast I was growing dizzy. I didn't want to faint just standing by the door, so I took a deep breath, and turned the knob.

* * *

_**Alucard** _

Empty wine bottles covered the surface of the two tables nearest to the sofa he sat. A few more lay discarded on the rugs by his feet, still dripping whatever remained of their contents onto the burgundy fabric. The glass in his hand was empty, stained red from how much it had held in the last twelve hours. He stared at it, expressionless, as if the glass would refill, shatter, or just change in some way of its own accord.

He thought about clenching his fist around it, thinking about how it would feel to let the slivers of maroon-stained glass embed themselves into his palm. He contemplated chucking it at the wall in front of him, wanting to hear the sound the stupid thing would make as it cracked and splintered into fragments of what it used to be.

In the end, he did nothing.

The tarp against the window frame fluttered with each gust of wind, the sound like a massive bird taking flight. An early morning breeze squeezed its way into his apartment through the gaps where the duct tape had properly failed to secure it in place.

The earliest he could get someone in to fix the window was two weeks from now, and so he'd settled for the tarp in the meantime. It made a lot of noise and was extremely annoying to keep attached to the window frame, but he didn't exactly have much of a choice.

He grew tired of watching his glass do absolutely nothing. Grunting, he pulled himself out of his slouched position on the sofa, just enough so he could fit the glass into a space between the bottles on the table in front of him. Sighing, he collapsed back into his original position, his arms outstretched lazily over the top of the sofa.

The last time he'd sat like this, the police girl had ended up falling asleep on him.

He dropped his arms, hunching forward over his thighs, rubbing the back of his neck with his fingertips. He rested his elbows on his knees, tangling his fingers in his hair as he held his head up.

 _She's probably mad at you_ , some part of him chided.

So-fucking-what if she was mad? She should be mad at him. She should be downright furious and revolted by him. All 90 pounds of her should hate him. She should want him dead, and yet, she'd agreed to whatever he'd asked, been patient with him, and although she was hurt and confused, he doubted that she held any rage towards him. He wished she did, so that maybe he could attempt to understand her. He wanted her to make sense to him, so that he could figure out what he was supposed to be doing with himself.

He'd never had such a lack of direction in his life before. He was always on a hunt, working a case, finding answers… But, now he was lost, just like he imagined she was.

 _And who's fault is that?_ He asked himself, not even bothering to think of an answer.

She was lost because of his fuck-ups, and he was lost because he couldn't figure out if he'd handled the whole situation in the right way. The whole 'not knowing' thing was getting to him, keeping him trapped in a cycle of what-ifs and speculation. It made his head spin and his throat dry. It made him want to crack open another bottle, but he remained where he was, as still as the stone busts that decorated the wall behind him.

He sat in complete silence, both physical and mental, brushing his hair away from his eyes before letting his fingers find their way into a clasped position over his knees.

 _I'm mad at her_ , he thought, the words forming slowly.

 _No,_ he disagreed immediately, _I'm not._

He wasn't mad. 'Mad' was the wrong word.

He felt useless. All he had been doing lately was screwing up. He tried to think of something, anything, that had happened between him and that police girl that was remotely okay.

Nothing came to mind except the image of her sitting across from him at his table, eating dinner in a silence that he favoured much more over the one he was in currently.

 _At least when she was here, she wasn't alone_ , he thought to himself, as if reminding himself of that would justify keeping her with him. He took a deep breath in, letting it out in a gruff exhale through his nostrils.

With her, he was empty. He was forced to move on from what was keeping him glued to his sofa, getting shitfaced at ten in the morning. He was haunted by his decisions, but with her, he didn't have a choice but to stand by them. Sure, he wasn't actually certain about any of the choices he'd made, but he would never have let her know that. How the hell could he expect her to move on if he wouldn't let himself do so when he was with her?

Without her, he was caught in a disarray of doubt. He wasn't ignoring what had been right in front of him anymore. He was forced to confront it all, to confront himself, and he hated what he saw. He hated how weak he was, how weakened by _her_ he was. He'd killed before, many, many times, by accident and by choice, yet none of those decisions clung to him the way this one did. He didn't understand it, and he couldn't let it go. It was all uncharted territory from him, and as much as he didn't want to say so, he was terrified by it, and it was that fear of himself that was frustrating him the most.

With how he'd chosen to spend a majority of his life, before Hellsing and with Hellsing, he'd known that guilt was never an option. Yet, it'd always been there, brushing its fingertips along some faraway, buried corner of his mind. Now, the floodgates had opened and he was on the verge of drowning in a storm of his own making; a tempest made for his enemies that had only capsized his own ship.

 _Call her,_ he thought, _fix this._

 _What good would it do?_ He asked himself. What good would calling her do now that he'd thrown her out of the only place she'd tried to move forward in? He thought he'd brought her to his home to keep her safe, and to make amends with everything that had happened between them, once and for all, but he'd thrown it all away.

As his thoughts continued to swirl around his mind like a leaf in a lazy stream, he began to see the answer to a question that he'd been asking himself since he'd driven her back to her apartment.

He straightened his posture, his vision blurring from fatigue.

He had his answer now. The only problem was that he'd known it all along, but had refused to acknowledge it, much like everything else he experienced. Now, however, he just hoped that it wasn't too late to act on what he now knew.

* * *

Dad's room was the same as it always was, albeit a little mustier that normal. His pajamas were draped across a chair in front of his desk, by the window on the wall on the right. His bed was against the left wall, facing the window because he liked being woken up by the sunlight on his days off. Bottles of cologne littered the surface of his dresser, and small photographs of mom and me were stuck to the mirror with tape.

It never occurred to me how bare his room was. There weren't any decorations or personal mementos, aside from the few small photographs. It was as if he was just passing through, rather than someone who lived in the house.

I wandered over to his bed, my gaze wandering to the golden light that highlighted the gaps between the blinds. I climbed onto the mattress, falling onto my side, my face sinking into his pillows.

It smelled like he did, like his cologne and almond shampoo. I curled into a ball, wrapping my arms around the pillow, trying to physically hold onto the scent.

It hurt more than it comforted to be in his room. It made me miss him more than I thought I did. I was surrounded by those scents my entire life, and now all I had left was whatever had managed to cling onto his unwashed sheets. It made me realize how empty my life was without my dad. It made something deep inside me, something below my ribcage ache. It made me want to fold myself inwards until I was suspended in nothingness, until I was enveloped in what was left of my dad.

It wasn't fair.

Why did any of it have to happen? My father, my friends, my team, and now the last person I'd expected to be somewhat getting along with… All were gone. All were now nothing more than a fading vision of something that should've been more than it got a chance to be. I was alone, and I didn't understand why. What purpose could there be to all that had happened?

I rolled onto my back, new tears sliding past my temples and into my hair. As I straightened out my posture, I heard my cell phone slide out of my hoodie's pocket and clatter onto the floor. I let out a half-groan, half-sob. I was so frustrated by everything, and on top of it all I might need to spend money I didn't have replace my phone.

I hoisted myself into a sitting position, scanning the floor through tear-clouded eyes for my phone, but I couldn't find it. I smacked my fist against the mattress, angrily wiping my face as I made another disgruntled moan. I was sincerely hoping the stupid thing hadn't shattered.

I hopped off the bed and onto the floor, pacing around while trying to spot my phone. I crouched down, hoping to see any trace of it. Soon, I noticed the edge of the black, plastic phone case poking out from under my dad's bed. I flattened myself onto my stomach, reaching under the bed for the phone.

As I felt the cool plastic beneath my fingertips, I also made contact with something else. It felt rough and papery… Files?

I pulled the phone out from under the bed, then stuck my hand back under for whatever else was under there.

I was right. There were file folders, many of them, all under my dad's bed. They were pretty far under, so I had to claw at them with my nails to get them close enough to properly grasp.

I'd always thought my dad asked me to skip his room when cleaning the floors because he wanted to make the chore easier on me. Now, however, I wondered if he was just trying to keep whatever was in the files away from me.

I took the files to the kitchen, where there was the most light. I dropped them onto the table, setting my phone on the counter. Thankfully, it had survived its fall.

I sat down in front of the files, my heart beating as if I'd been running. I felt small droplets of sweat beading on my upper lip, my stomach churning like the sea in a storm. I wasn't sure if I even wanted to know what was inside. But, if my dad had to hide them, they must've held very sensitive information, otherwise he likely would've told me.

Whatever it was, I wasn't going to run from it. I would never begin to answer any of my questions by just sitting there, staring at what were likely the answers I'd been looking for. I felt myself holding my breath as I picked up the first file.

 


	13. Chapter 12: The Uninvited Guest

Chapter 12: The Uninvited Guest

            Alucard grunted as my fist made contact with his jaw. We stepped back from each other, both dazed and surprised by what I’d just done. I didn’t think I’d actually land the blow, but I did, and I could tell he was starting to prepare to strike back.

I swung at Alucard’s midsection, hoping to catch him off-guard again, but he side-stepped out of my reach. He used his momentum to propel his body behind me, grabbing me by my wrist as he moved. 

            “Hey, wait!” I cried, realizing what was about to happen.

            He pulled me by my arm, using his full body weight to launch me into the padded wall. I slammed into it, hard, falling face first onto the floor.

            Panting, I shakily pulled myself onto my hands and knees, my body aching from the impact.

            Brushing my bangs off of my sticky forehead, I saw a hand materializing in my periphery.

            I flinched, immediately assuming a defensive position, only to realize that the hand was extended as an offer to help me stand.

            I sighed, taking his hand as he yanked me to my feet.

            “Here,” he said, handing me a small towel off of a shelf.

            I took it from him, patting my face and neck with it as I dropped into one of the folding chairs.

I fanned my face with my hand, staring at the ceiling of the practice room. The air was steaming from all of our energy. It was small and unventilated, unlike the shooting range. This room was just off to the side of it, through another door. It was padded with black mats, the walls lined with shelves of various hand held practice weapons and supplies, and sparring dummies shoved into the far corners.

            “You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be,” he said, twisting open a bottle of water. “But you still have a long way to go.”

            I coughed out a weak laugh, looking at him. “Thanks.”

            “By the time the paperwork I put in for you goes through, I want you to be able to save your own skin in a fight,” Alucard continued, lowering himself into a chair as he tossed a new water bottle at me.

            I caught it, relishing in how cold it felt against my sweat slicked palms. “Did you forget how I handled Anderson when he broke in? I had him covered until you pulled me off,” I reminded him, taking a swig from the bottle.

            “Did you forget how he kicked my ass in there?” He asked, motioning towards the upstairs with his water bottle.

            I shook my head, taking another gulp of water.

            “If he can kick my ass, and I can kick yours. That means you don’t stand a chance against him or anyone else right now.” He took a sip of water.

            I stared at the water bottle in my hands, focusing my gaze on the cap. “How do you even know Anderson?”

            “He’s a criminal. It’s my job to know who he is,” he replied, without hesitation.

            I untwisted and re-twisted the cap on the bottle a few times before speaking again. “He asked about your gun, you know.”

            Alucard, whose fingers were previously fidgeting with his water bottle in the same way I was, froze. It was as if the air had solidified around us, entombing us in an oppressive, smoggy silence.

            He got to his feet without warning, draping a towel over his shoulders. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. “If you go upstairs, you’ll find towels and soap in the closet by the guest room. Go shower, you stink.”

            The door half-slammed behind him as he left, leaving me in the humid practice room by myself, wondering what had set him off this time.

\---

            A week passed, then almost another. Things seemed to have calmed down for the most part. The days passed at a strange pace, sometimes too quickly for me to process what was happening, sometimes so slow that I felt each moment would never pass.

            Each day, Alucard would wake me up in the early hours of the morning, and we’d stretch for about half an hour before getting into a sparring session for an hour or two. He’d leave for work, and I’d practice on my own with the dummies. Some days he’d stick in another sparring session or shooting lesson after dinner, but most of the time, after we’d both gotten cleaned up, he’d ask if I wanted to join him in the living room to watch TV.

            It took a while, but I could slowly sense that I was allowing myself to trust him again. I think he was doing the same. Occasionally, he’d go silent, becoming a spectre in his own home, set off by something unknown to me. Maybe I was just particularly good at making him uncomfortable, or maybe he was just having difficulty living with another person. Either way, this wasn’t easy for either of us, but it was becoming less strenuous as the tension between us dissipated.

\---

            Three days into my third week of living with Alucard, I was jolted out of my slumbering state to the sound of a plastic sheet thrashing, followed by what sounded like erratic honking.

            It was the morning of my day off, the one day a week where Alucard let the both of us rest in between all of the training. I groaned, annoyed to be woken up at all on the only day I was allowed to sleep in past five in the morning.

            I pushed myself up off of my stomach. Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I realized that I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. I must have passed out while watching TV and Alucard hadn’t bothered to wake me.

            I suddenly became aware of just how loud the noise I was hearing was.

            Rubbing my head, I peered beside me, towards the window that Alucard had neglected to get replaced, and screamed.

\---

**_Alucard_ **

            The police girl’s scream tore him from his sleep in an instant. He was out of his bed in a heartbeat, running down the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him.

            “Seras!” He called, his heart thundering as loudly as his footfalls.

            _It better fucking not be Anderson,_ he thought to himself, adrenaline spiking his blood at the very idea. His gun was downstairs, so he could only hope he’d get there fast enough to grab it.

            At the bottom of the stairs, Alucard slowed down as he noticed Seras creeping into the hallway, motioning for him to stop. She was holding a broom out in front of her like a weapon. Panting as he tried to calm himself down from the commotion, he followed the length of the broomstick with his eyes, trying to see what she was pointing it at.

And then, he saw it.

            There, in the hallway by the stairs, was a Canadian goose.

\---

            “What the fuck is that shit doing in my house?” Alucard hollered.

            I shushed him furiously, swatting in his general direction with the broom. He was going to get us both killed. “Shut up! You’ll scare it!” I whisper yelled, turning my attention back to the devil by the door. “Just… Can you get by it and try to open the front door? I can shove it out,” I explained, waving the broom.

            I heard him exhale loudly, groaning like I had when I’d woken up. He rubbed his forehead with both of his hands, pulling his hair back from his face.

            “It’s too fucking early for this,” he grumbled.

            He looked at the goose as it contentedly patted his floor with its feet webbed. It was tapping its beak against the ground like it was looking for food, or passage back to its homeland of Hell. He looked at me, partly hidden behind the wall leading to the living room, the broom extended in front of me.

            “Okay, you know what?” He began, hopping off the bottom step and marching towards the demon, “Fuck this.”

            “Alucard, wait…” I tried, but it was too late.

            Alucard, standing behind the oblivious goose, looked at me, then back the goose, like he was attempting to comprehend what was happening. I mean, I couldn’t blame him. He’d woken up to the spawn of Satan in his home. Anyone would be reacting like he was.

            Before I could do anything to stop him, Alucard bent down, grabbing at the goose barehanded.

            Naturally, the beast began to honk and screech, flapping its wings in an attempt to free itself. I let out a startled cry, backing away with my broom outstretched, ready to defend myself if it came near me.

            Alucard yelped, dropping the bird and backing away, but the goose wasn’t done with him yet.

            The goose’s honking picked up in volume and urgency. It flapped its wings angrily as it faced Alucard, who was now backed up against the wall opposite the goose.

            The goose suddenly let out a series of enraged sounding cries before it launched itself at Alucard, flying into his face.

            He was screaming as he tried to pull it off of him, I was screaming as I swatted at the beast with the broom, and the goose was screaming as it attempted to end Alucard’s life.

            In a burst of strength, Alucard wrenched the angry animal off of him, throwing it past me, into the living room. I shouted in shock, running to stand against the wall as he pulled the double doors leading to the living room shut.

            Both of us stood still, breathing heavily, staring into the room through the glass doors.

            We watched, our bodies tense, as the goose took flight, exiting through the window it entered from.

            Neither of us moved for what felt like hours, trying to process what just happened. I could see that Alucard was still on edge, his shoulders still taut like he was expecting it to come back.

            Eventually, he relaxed, and so did I. I leaned the broom against the wall beside me as Alucard turned around. I saw small, red scratches on Alucard’s forearms and cheeks, standing out against his skin.

            “For what evolutionary purpose does that shit have teeth on its tongue…” He wheezed, reaching past me for the broom.

            I felt something in me, bubbling up towards my lips, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

            Laughter.

            It erupted from my mouth, and I couldn’t help myself from letting it out. I half fell against the wall, trying to cover my mouth, but the laughter just kept coming. My stomach was hurting and there were tears in my eyes.

            It felt good. It felt so good to laugh after forgetting what it felt like.

            Alucard was trying to talk to me, but I wasn’t listening. I was caught up in the image of him getting owned by a goose.

            “Shut up,” I heard him say, with what might have been suppressed laughter of his own, but I didn’t look at him to check. My eyes were shut with how much I was laughing.

            I felt him prodding at my feet with the broom, which only succeeded in making my laugh harder.

“Stop, stop!” I choked out between breaths.

            “You stop!” He countered. I could definitely hear a hint of something similar to a chuckle in his voice. “Shut up and help me clean this up. We’re going to board up the window, too.”

            Still giggling, I nodded, opening my eyes.

            He was fighting a smile, his face turned mostly away from me as he swept a part of the floor that was completely untouched by our intruder.

            I took the broom from him, going into the living room, not even bothering to try and stifle my laughter anymore. He cleared his throat as he left the hallway, I probably heading to the basement to grab supplies to board up the window.

\---

            An hour and a half later, the window was boarded up, the house was free of any evidence that any goose had broken in, and I was still giggling.

            Alucard wasn’t appreciative of how he’d been defeated by a bird, but considering that he was still speaking to me after it happened, I didn’t think he cared all that much.

            Leaning the broom against the wall, I dropped onto the sofa in front of the TV, still smiling. I heard Alucard walking around the couch, only to feel the sofa cushions sink as he sat next to me.

            Neither of us said anything, but for once, the silence between us wasn’t tense.

            I looked over at Alucard, tucking my hair behind my ear.

            He was leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, his hands clasped over his knees. He glanced at me, almost doing a double take.

            “Will you let it go already?” He grumbled, releasing his hands as he fell back into the sofa.

            I chuckled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

            I heard him let out a single bark of laughter. “Uh huh, sure.”

            We lapsed into silence again, both of us lounging next to each other on the couch.

            The room was darker than normal with the window boarded up. Sunlight used to seep in through the tarp Alucard had put up, but the boards kept all of the light out, making the room murky with shadows. The sound of cars passing by and the leaves rustling filtered through the boards, filling our lack of words with a natural symphony.

            Eventually, Alucard grabbed the TV remote, switching the device on.

            A newscaster took over for the sounds from outside, providing words so that neither of us had to.

            A sense of ease settled over me, relaxing my tired arms and aching shoulders. The smile I’d had on since I’d woken up hadn’t left, though it was softer now, calmed by the tranquility of the moment.

            It was a change of pace, one that I was thankful for after days and days of the same thing over and over again.

\---

**_Alucard_ **

            He yawned, finding the story on hidden coffee shops in Toronto much too boring. He was aware that the television was on, but he wasn’t really paying attention. At first, it was all he heard, but it didn’t take long before he’d lost interest and had directed his focus elsewhere.

            He felt the police girl’s shoulder pressed against his arm, a small patch of warmth that seeped through his shirtsleeve. Her breaths were almost inaudible, except when she’d occasionally sniffle, probably from all of the dust that the bird had shaken loose.

            It was all he was aware of. Her.

            He was hungry, craving a snack. He sort of had to use the bathroom, but he didn’t move. He didn’t want her to take it the wrong way.  He knew she wouldn’t, not something as menial as that, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He didn’t want to speak since whatever this silence was felt so comfortable, yet so fragile. He couldn’t break it. He couldn’t, not knowing if doing so would break her.

            _Would you shut the fuck up and stop being such a pussy?_ He jeered at himself.

            He was being a dumbass and he knew it, but he could do anything.

            _Do I even really want to do anything?_

            The police girl snickered in response to something the reporter said.

            He decided that, no, he didn’t want to do anything.

            Dumbass or not, he was good right where he was.


End file.
